Fat Man in a Little Deli.
Posted In: Food, Random Lashing Out
I was in the grocery store the other day, getting a few things when I heard the wheezing and grunting of a rather large, stout fellow shuffing his way… no… morphing his way to the deli counter, like Jabba the Hutt working his way into his throne. This strapping lad was about 400 pounds and sweating like a high school freshman on prom night in the back seat a the limo. His shoes, those poor Wal-Mart brand sneakers, the soles looked like they were ready to blow out like Janet Jackson during the halftime show.
He had 2 canes… these canes looked like they were bowing so bad in the middle, they’d snap like a disgruntled high school student making out his shit list at home while playing Everquest. They creaked like floorboards in a Victorian home, bent so bad, I don’t think the Arch in St. Louis is bowed in the middle that bad.
When I got what I needed, I stood there putting things in my cart when I heard the most ridiculous thing come from this guys’ mouth… “Six pounds of German bologna please. *wheeze, wheeze*”
Six pounds of friggin’ German bologna for a guy that probably craps out small animals and bundles of potted meat.
After receiving his truckload of bologna, he then ordered five, yes five pounds of cheeze. Velveeta must be racing through his former blood stream, I am thinking at this point. I said to myself, “Why not go behind the counter and grab all you can! Fit whatever you need in your arms and throw it in your carriage!”
After Fatty McGee got 47 pounds of death by deli, I stood there in disbelief. I am glad there were no children around, for they may have been next on the grocery list for Orca, the great Killer Whale. Then the guy shuffled off, grunting and groaning, leaving a trail of sweat, greasy hair smell and a puddle of butter in his wake.
For God’s sakes, if you’re that heavy, do you really think you need 47 pounds of deli meat? I think Slim-Fast, a diet of cocaine and heroin would be good enough, but this takes the cake. The Human Eclipse is probably going to be your next “750 Pound man” on the Discovery Channel, so we can see him in all his glory, airlifted from his bed, as they cut the roof of the trailer off, and then show him munching on pork rinds showing off all his platter-sized bedsores for the nation to see right around dinner time.
Someone send for Richard Simmons!
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03 Oct 2006 Captain Bastard
The fact that “former blood stream” was used in this story had me almost-almost shat myself again (meaning brown crayon, no paper just like the last time).
At least he admitted that he previously shat himself.
Although rare, “bundles of potted meat” can also be found hanging from the one known as “Delicious” or “Nasty Nate.”
For the record, Fatty McGee is of no relation to the illustrious Spanks “Dildotron” McGee.
Furthermore, I’d like to welcome Captain Bastard to the Soupy Trumpet team.
May our Douchebaggery shine on forever.
If you read as written you would know I admitted to almost William Shatnering myself…thus almost-almost… like not even close enough to warrant almost shatting, but almost.
almost-almost is fancy for didn’t really.
I’d like to add that Fatty McGee is a good American who single-handedly justifies the existence of the HUMMER.
Praise God above, and pass the gasoline.
Did it get on your hand? Yes?…shat.
Firstly, I would like to thank MC Spanky for the warm welcome and yes, I would like to upgrade the douchebaggery to DEFCON1.
Debauchery is my middle name.
Oooh, Spanky’s got a buddy…little does the Captain know that a warm welcome from the Spankster actually involves the Truffle Shuffle and husky little pledge.
Nothing a bottle of Captain and some cheap hookers can’t cure.