My parents had two cures for everything when I would get sick. The first was the light step to gauge the nastiness of the affliction. The second was designed to kill you.

The first step was to warm up some milk in a kettle, almost to point of boiling. Then, it would be poured on toast and covered with sugar and cinammon. I eat this shit when I'm perfectly healthy 'cause godDAMN it is good.

If that didn't cure what ailed me or my sister, we were then met with what could only have come from the devil. In the pantry, sitting quietly just waiting to come out, was a bottle of liquid death. Pure Coca-Cola syrup. If you happen to be in your right mind and have never tried pure Coke syrup, avoid it like the goddamn plague.

This particular remedy was applied no matter what the affliction. Stubbed toe, headache, sniffles, amputated got the Coke syrup if the milk-toast didn't make you jump up and down immediatley. This always seemed odd to me because the only effect the syrup ever had was instant vomiting. And I'm not talking polite, in the toilet vomiting. I'm talking projectile, full body heave, head all the way in the toilet vomiting. Through observation of use it was apparent to the kids but not the parents that the body's immediate reaction to the syrup was "GET THIS SHIT THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!"" Not one time did the syrup cure anything, and in fact it always made me feel worse.

I impatiently await the day when my parents are old and senile and in a home so I can slip them some of this black death and let the nurses clean up the mess.