Nacho Death

There is a literally a hurricane today in Wisconsin.  (I have a whole blog planned out about the misuse of the word "literally" coming up soon, but in this case, it's REAL.)  I don't know if it has been named yet, but Weather Channel said that this storm could easily be as strong as the last 4 hurricanes in the Atlantic.  I'm not even kidding.  Want to see?

(Okay, so it really just looks like this, but that's not NEARLY as accurate a depiction of what it feels like.)

Anyway.  Today, I went to the Taco Bell on campus for lunch and got the nachos supreme.  It's what I usually get.  I was planning on walking back to the music building to eat them in the lounge.

It all started with the inability to push open the door to the student union.  It was kind of like the wind had stolen a chair from a classroom and had shoved it up under the handle so that I'd be locked in there to die in case of fire.  After about 30 seconds of struggling to no avail, I decided to kick it up a notch.  I backed up and ran at the door, and shoulder-plowed it open.  It opened.  It closed.  I wasn't out of the door yet.  I yelped in pain.

The best way I can describe the subsequent experience of being outside in the wind would be to liken it to being on the peak of Mt. Washington.  It felt something like this:

 This is when things began to get ugly.  The wind was so strong that it was starting to carry my nachos away, and it was whipping those little f**ers at me at 43 knots!!  Hurricane Inlandia was turning my nachos into dangerous martial arts weapons.  What happened next was a blur.  But to the best of my recollection, it went something like this:

 

 

And that's how I was killed by my lunch.