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.