chroniclesofcisco:

Dim the lights, nuke some Pop Secret, and prime yourself for the epic (and overdue) reunion of the S.T.A.R. Labs team. Parental discretion advised.

The set-up: It had been lonely these past six months. Like, Titanic-soundtrack-on-repeat, lonely. Caitlin had buried herself in work at Mercury Labs, Barry was Lone Rangering it up, and I was stuck spending Friday nights at Zumba with my mom and her friends from the Historical Preservation Society (Mrs. Martinez, you got the moves like Jagger, girl!). So now that the band is officially back together (and better than ever!), it only seemed appropriate that we do a little celebrating. Or a lot of celebrating…

Cut to: A south side dive bar. Karaoke night. Anyone else think it’s totally unfair that Barry can run faster than the speed of light and has the voice of an angel? I was feeling all the feels and bawling like a baby when he belted out Neil Diamond - then again, I was on my third Blue Hawaiian, so my inhibitions were already more or less abandoned. It was Caitlin’s earsplitting rendition of “Wrecking Ball” that sobered me up enough to realize we needed to peace out before we were thrown out…



We stopped at a Big Belly to fill up on greasy goodness before hitting the next joint, which ended up being a Hells Angels hotspot. Fun fact: big, beefy bikers don’t like it when you hop on their ride and begin reenacting the epic chase scene from The Matrix Reloaded. Oops. I was seconds away from being taco meat at the hands of a Marlon Brando-wannabe when my boy Barry stepped in and proposed a challenge: a drink off - he who is left standing gets to decide my fate. Check it: Mr. Brando sauntered up to the bar, thinking he’d demolish Barry after three shots. But little did he know about Barry’s secret weapon: a lightening-fast metabolism. He could chug the entire liquor cabinet of a well-endowed frat and feel nada.



Eleven shots apiece later and the giant was felled! We booked it outta there (fully intact!) and took refuge in S.T.A.R. Labs, where Caitlin used some copper refrigerator tubing to make some nasty cortex cocktail that tasted like rocket fuel. And for future reference: the acoustics in the pipeline are dope. We cranked some tunes (Cisco Disco, baby!) and Zumba-ed the night away.



I’m home now, praying to the porcelain god that my suffering will soon be brought to and end. It kinda feels like there’s a horned beetle chewing its way through my amygdala, but I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.

