The burnings are still all over me; I feel the acid waters seeping into my membranes. In a dream Jesus came to me and said "Man!" and I said "Jesus!" and Jesus said "You will be out on the prowl for rice rolls and a terrible rain will come and acid burn you" and I said "I don't want to be acid burned!" and Jesus said "Too bad!"
And so I was on the prowl for rice rolls, those delicate little bastards, those fresh tasties. Rice flour is mixed with some water and a little salt and lightly steamed, the end result a subtle, supple bastard. You can pour soy sauces on them or other sauces.
I was at Mah Wah, the famed tea parlor in Chinatown, eating some fried rice rolls. I sat immersed in my rolls, and an emergency broadcast weather event beeping was heard. What could possibly be happening, I thought. I turned to look outside: a torrential downpour was torentially downpouring. Jesus, I thought! It was true!
After eating my bastard rice rolls, I stood under Mah Wah's canopy for a few moments. It's just rain, I thought. My dream was just a dream. I ran into the night's rain and screamed in horror. The wetness burned me like a thousand vinegar fires. My very DNA seemed aflame. I fell to the pavement and writhed in agony. "The burning Jesus rain!" I screamed, rolling, rubbing myself to extinguish the scorching liquid.
It was evident only I could feel the Jesus rain, but why? Why me? This is the question that haunts us all.