I know that I could crawl into bed and never leave it again, like those people you hear about on TV. I could easily be one of them, it would be so comfortable; its really a dream come true, imagine it: to never have to get up again, to not have to go to work, to make money, to pay bills, to not have to do_ fucking_ Anything.
No pressures, no worries, no tests, no failures, just the covers and the pillows and the un-ending WHITENESS of it, like a pure, cottony dream.
Like floating in the clouds, a kind of heaven.
Not having to worry about nothing... Nothing.
Its tempting and the only thing keeping me from doing it is I don’t want to look that way, I don’t want to be 500 pounds, as it is im over 300 again.
Just a few sandwiches away!
I’m yours Bed, I’m yours if this life gets any more difficult.
I have my limits; there’s only so much a man can take.
I’m a genius. It took a few hours and a lot of breaks but moving my fridge into my room next to my bed is pure gold. Maybe I can stay in bed forever. I deserve it after all that work. That’s the problem with more than 1 room – too much movin around. I should sublet this place and get an efficiency, a small one, everything in arms length. Now for the test; he collapses on his poor bed smellin like ass. It didn’t take long to fit into the deep grooves of the mattress. His was a bed where the springs didn’t spring. Aaaahhh, that’s the spot. I’m so comfortable. Me and this bed – it’s like peanut butter and jelly. Oh yea, what was I doing (the thought of peanut butter and jelly brought him back). Starting to rock side-to-side building into a roll he managed to come to his side and reached into the fridge. Just a beer for now – the perfect cherry on top of 2 scoops of hard labor movin this damn thing. Ah fuck it, there’s a meatloaf just right there. Rolling back in place a swig followed. Aaaaahhhhh…gold. If only I could crap in here.
After propping up a few more pillows under his bulbous head so the digestion would be easier he caught a glance at his stomach and man-boobs. Looks like a landscape. All hilly and rotund, curves. He pored some beer between his boobs and watched it travel down and around his stomach like a mountain stream…beautiful. He put the meatloaf on his stomach and thought what if my stomach were a hill. That’s a big meatloaf.
Exhaustion set in, beer in hand, meatloaf on stomach, he dozed off quietly then loudly with a snore that anyone who ever slept in a room with a fat guy would recognize. He was dreaming of the ocean, not the beach but further in the deep where it’s dark blue under water except near the top where the surface is reflecting the sun. It was quiet under the surface. The occasional distant sound of a whale probably a hundred miles away. He saw himself gliding through the water effortlessly. He moved with the grace and majestic ness of a porpoise. Along side him swam sea lions and he was happy about this.
A fart woke him up and he realized he was lying in his beer. Fuck, waste of a beer…gotta piss too…bed’s already wet…here goes…that’s a big meatloaf…this feels…not bad but different…no matter how many times I piss myself it always feels different…not done yet, man I really had to go…………………………………………….
this bed really holds a lot of water.
Time for some meatloaf.
With one bite half the meatloaf was gone and both cheeks were full slowly chewing to savor the mix of meatloaf and the bacteria on his tongue and walls of his mouth that only a good sleep can leave behind. Before swallowing he shoved the other half of the meatloaf in and smiled as he chewed. Man, that was good, gotta get more meatloaf later. I’m in the mood for a sandwich. Fuck, I left the bread in the kitchen; there goes that. Just as well, if I roll over to the fridge I’d spill all this piss. I could probably get in another sleep before this piss gives me a rash. I think I’ll order a pizza when I wake up…to celebrate.
Dozing off again he dreamt he was a giant meatloaf.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
story, pt4
Ugh, food poisoning. All I can do is lay down in bed in-between rushes to the bathroom to throw up or shit in the toilet, but its not really shit its just like pissing dark water out my ass, god this is GROSS. Thanks a lot, Big-Ass Burrito!
I will Never go there again. I know I already said that before but this time I mean it. You can fool me twice, but not three times!
Ugh, I’ve used up two rolls of toilet paper already in two days, my ass is rubbed red and raw, and my stomach is still gurgling, you can practically track the progress of the burrito particles as they hit the stomach and are rejected, then travel thru the intestines, which react aggressively in pushing it on out. I don’t know why its all coming out water, shouldn’t it be coming out untouched if it cant be digested? I need to read up on food poisoning, but it looks like I lost my internet connection. Damnitt, I might actually have to get a job, and here I am stuck in bed again. Seems like im always stuck in bed, or on the toilet. This is my Limbo. No, you know what? Limbo is just when you’re lost: This is what happens when you’ve done something bad and are being punished for it.
This is my Purgatory.
Strange dream, had to poop so bad. Started to go in my pants, caught myself, was talking to a girl on the phone, or guy maybe, telling him about my idea for a tv show- he catches himself- the person on the line asks whats wrong- oh nothing- then when he can tell it has stopped for now, goes on- I’m telling him an idea for a show while having diarrhea- there is a call on the other line- it’s the girl (stacye)- as she is tlking, and its important, he has to go again- he jumps back on the toilet and lets looseshe asks if he is alright- what was that?- oh nothing, I just (plop!)- I just stopped.. ok anyway- so they talk about getting married, something serious, while he has diarrhea-
Then I wake up and popp in real life, thinking, what a great idea it would be to write a story about a guy who decides not to get out of bed one day cause the bed is so comfortable. A quirky little piece about loving your bed, the covers, the sheets, the pillows, and just rolling around in it, staying comfortable, staying there like the womb. He even falls in love with a girl and they get married, but he never leaves the bed. Maybe in the end she joins him too, sort of a yoko and john thing-
I can see the self-assured look on the guys face, he hypnotises himself, nothing fazes him.
Just a short story about the love of fabrics, the bed, the lying down position with overall
meaning of, not giving up on, but giving into that urge…also, on the toilet, thinking about a story involving diarrhea- another human story, like the bed thing. Everyone has spent time in bed, and everyone has spent time on the toilet- its universal, and they are both comfort zones to a certain extent. Well what if you pushed that extent. What if someone is on the toilet all the time? Does he want to be? Not at first. He has a terrible diet, always pooping, and different kinds, different descriptions, and smells and sounds and sights, a real gross-out. But with a point. Maybe he likes it. he likes being on the toilet. Its comfortable there in the bathroom, same as the bed. Maybe after so much diarrhea, he is constipated, and cant leave the toilet until he has a movement again. He likes the feeling of release. What is it making him rid himself so often? The world sends in a psychiatrist in there to talk to him. Why do this? He doesn’t know, or doesn’t care. He just needs to. Denial of reality. Maybe you lose touch with reality. You don’t care, the dream is infinitely more interesting. Willing denial of reality. Acceptance of a higher reality thru dreaming, sleeping, eating, and pooping. Its like a drug, sloughing around, staying indoors, in small enclosed places. The modern fairy tale with familiar surroundings to all. This one has a happy ending because the girl decides to get in bed with him.
He wakes up and realizes that the sickness has past.
“I’m Back”, he thinks, as he rolls himself out of bed in the afternoon and weighs himself on the scale in the bathroom. 197 pounds. “I’m light!”, he says, then moves back to look at himself in the mirror. He practically looks skinny. How long has it been since he was under 200 pounds? Probably since college, since before he met Stacy. Once they were going steady, they both let themselves go… and since she’s been gone, its gotten even worse. Well, strange to say it, but being sick was a good thing! Now is a chance to keep thin, and get healthy for once, finally!
Later, at Showbiz Pizza, he is munching down on his fourth plate, pizza sauce drooling down his chin and onto a bib, laughing with the kids around him as the animatronics band runs thru one of their tunes again. This is the second time he’s seen the show today. Its so much fun to watch the little kiddies who actually believe the robots are real or something- he gets off just watching how they interact with each other, the pre-programmed beasts.. and the robots. He is laughing, with food on his chest.. laughing.
I will Never go there again. I know I already said that before but this time I mean it. You can fool me twice, but not three times!
Ugh, I’ve used up two rolls of toilet paper already in two days, my ass is rubbed red and raw, and my stomach is still gurgling, you can practically track the progress of the burrito particles as they hit the stomach and are rejected, then travel thru the intestines, which react aggressively in pushing it on out. I don’t know why its all coming out water, shouldn’t it be coming out untouched if it cant be digested? I need to read up on food poisoning, but it looks like I lost my internet connection. Damnitt, I might actually have to get a job, and here I am stuck in bed again. Seems like im always stuck in bed, or on the toilet. This is my Limbo. No, you know what? Limbo is just when you’re lost: This is what happens when you’ve done something bad and are being punished for it.
This is my Purgatory.
Strange dream, had to poop so bad. Started to go in my pants, caught myself, was talking to a girl on the phone, or guy maybe, telling him about my idea for a tv show- he catches himself- the person on the line asks whats wrong- oh nothing- then when he can tell it has stopped for now, goes on- I’m telling him an idea for a show while having diarrhea- there is a call on the other line- it’s the girl (stacye)- as she is tlking, and its important, he has to go again- he jumps back on the toilet and lets looseshe asks if he is alright- what was that?- oh nothing, I just (plop!)- I just stopped.. ok anyway- so they talk about getting married, something serious, while he has diarrhea-
Then I wake up and popp in real life, thinking, what a great idea it would be to write a story about a guy who decides not to get out of bed one day cause the bed is so comfortable. A quirky little piece about loving your bed, the covers, the sheets, the pillows, and just rolling around in it, staying comfortable, staying there like the womb. He even falls in love with a girl and they get married, but he never leaves the bed. Maybe in the end she joins him too, sort of a yoko and john thing-
I can see the self-assured look on the guys face, he hypnotises himself, nothing fazes him.
Just a short story about the love of fabrics, the bed, the lying down position with overall
meaning of, not giving up on, but giving into that urge…also, on the toilet, thinking about a story involving diarrhea- another human story, like the bed thing. Everyone has spent time in bed, and everyone has spent time on the toilet- its universal, and they are both comfort zones to a certain extent. Well what if you pushed that extent. What if someone is on the toilet all the time? Does he want to be? Not at first. He has a terrible diet, always pooping, and different kinds, different descriptions, and smells and sounds and sights, a real gross-out. But with a point. Maybe he likes it. he likes being on the toilet. Its comfortable there in the bathroom, same as the bed. Maybe after so much diarrhea, he is constipated, and cant leave the toilet until he has a movement again. He likes the feeling of release. What is it making him rid himself so often? The world sends in a psychiatrist in there to talk to him. Why do this? He doesn’t know, or doesn’t care. He just needs to. Denial of reality. Maybe you lose touch with reality. You don’t care, the dream is infinitely more interesting. Willing denial of reality. Acceptance of a higher reality thru dreaming, sleeping, eating, and pooping. Its like a drug, sloughing around, staying indoors, in small enclosed places. The modern fairy tale with familiar surroundings to all. This one has a happy ending because the girl decides to get in bed with him.
He wakes up and realizes that the sickness has past.
“I’m Back”, he thinks, as he rolls himself out of bed in the afternoon and weighs himself on the scale in the bathroom. 197 pounds. “I’m light!”, he says, then moves back to look at himself in the mirror. He practically looks skinny. How long has it been since he was under 200 pounds? Probably since college, since before he met Stacy. Once they were going steady, they both let themselves go… and since she’s been gone, its gotten even worse. Well, strange to say it, but being sick was a good thing! Now is a chance to keep thin, and get healthy for once, finally!
Later, at Showbiz Pizza, he is munching down on his fourth plate, pizza sauce drooling down his chin and onto a bib, laughing with the kids around him as the animatronics band runs thru one of their tunes again. This is the second time he’s seen the show today. Its so much fun to watch the little kiddies who actually believe the robots are real or something- he gets off just watching how they interact with each other, the pre-programmed beasts.. and the robots. He is laughing, with food on his chest.. laughing.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
story, pt3
I am a big tongue wagging, drooling wt drops all over your socks, wont you please open up? I am a big red tongue wagging, I am big red lips smacking, cant wait to gobble something up, it doesn’t even matter what!
I gotta get some donuts this morning… im driving to the place, listening to Kanye West. Man Wanye West is so fucking cool, im blasting that shit, jamming it loud and lookin at evryone else like what? Aint nothin wrong!
I’m big and im fat and im rollin around the yard, I roll around the place, and people who are skinny think they are hot but I think they are weak and I am big and when I park my car and walk across the parking lot to the donut shop I got his song ringin in my head, singin Good Morning, Good Morning: I walk where I want and people get out of the way and don’t even realize they are doing it.. cause they don’t want to mess with this.“I’m like the Michelin Man, with big rolls of fat around me like several tires around my waist, I’ve seen them multiplying over the years- sometimes I play the jolly fat man, the gentle giant, but inside I think I’m tough shit, I could take a punch thrown by just about anyone, pick any Ultimate Fighter you want; if they hit me in the gut, it’d hurt them a lot more than it would hurt me…”- this is me talkin to my friends at the donut shop, one of them is a cop, and one of them is a janitor at the high school just around the corner. These guys have been meeting me here for twenty years. “We grew up together, and we grew out together,” I say, cause we all got that middle-age man paunch. Didn’t used to be like that: we were all on the varsity football team! Whenever we are drinking, from this part of the story on it starts to sound like “Glory Days“, Bruce Springstein, but I’m not drunk right now I’m drinkin coffee and the coffee shit is the best new shit of the morning, a bit messy, getting rid of the leftover alcohol and midnight snacks of the last night, and now I’m clear to create new crap for the day… funny how it all comes down to bowel movements, that tells you more about human beings than anything else. Seriously.
Heartburn wakes me up in the middle of the morning, again. It rises as a bloody gorge from the stomach up the esophagus and into the mouth, bloody vomit, a mixture of what ive eaten that day broken down into a stomach acid soup, something that should never be seen outside your stomach but because of acid reflux disease I’m now tasting a midnight snack of awful proportions. As I come awake coughing with my hand over my mouth, im afraid its actually going to come out, but as usual it was just a warning: it subsides, and slides back down the throat to the boiling pit that is my stomach, until the next surge. Don’t know what causes it. My diets not THAT bad, and I take stomach pills every night, and antacid tablets every morning, but it never fails at least once a week if not more I’m awaken with that horrible feeling of acid rushing up with partially digested food to threaten to come out my mouth and all over the sheets, what a mess that would make! Instead, I sit up in bed and wait for it to calm down, then slowly slide down on the pillows until im drifting off to sleep again, chasing dreams of food without consequence…
I gotta get some donuts this morning… im driving to the place, listening to Kanye West. Man Wanye West is so fucking cool, im blasting that shit, jamming it loud and lookin at evryone else like what? Aint nothin wrong!
I’m big and im fat and im rollin around the yard, I roll around the place, and people who are skinny think they are hot but I think they are weak and I am big and when I park my car and walk across the parking lot to the donut shop I got his song ringin in my head, singin Good Morning, Good Morning: I walk where I want and people get out of the way and don’t even realize they are doing it.. cause they don’t want to mess with this.“I’m like the Michelin Man, with big rolls of fat around me like several tires around my waist, I’ve seen them multiplying over the years- sometimes I play the jolly fat man, the gentle giant, but inside I think I’m tough shit, I could take a punch thrown by just about anyone, pick any Ultimate Fighter you want; if they hit me in the gut, it’d hurt them a lot more than it would hurt me…”- this is me talkin to my friends at the donut shop, one of them is a cop, and one of them is a janitor at the high school just around the corner. These guys have been meeting me here for twenty years. “We grew up together, and we grew out together,” I say, cause we all got that middle-age man paunch. Didn’t used to be like that: we were all on the varsity football team! Whenever we are drinking, from this part of the story on it starts to sound like “Glory Days“, Bruce Springstein, but I’m not drunk right now I’m drinkin coffee and the coffee shit is the best new shit of the morning, a bit messy, getting rid of the leftover alcohol and midnight snacks of the last night, and now I’m clear to create new crap for the day… funny how it all comes down to bowel movements, that tells you more about human beings than anything else. Seriously.
Heartburn wakes me up in the middle of the morning, again. It rises as a bloody gorge from the stomach up the esophagus and into the mouth, bloody vomit, a mixture of what ive eaten that day broken down into a stomach acid soup, something that should never be seen outside your stomach but because of acid reflux disease I’m now tasting a midnight snack of awful proportions. As I come awake coughing with my hand over my mouth, im afraid its actually going to come out, but as usual it was just a warning: it subsides, and slides back down the throat to the boiling pit that is my stomach, until the next surge. Don’t know what causes it. My diets not THAT bad, and I take stomach pills every night, and antacid tablets every morning, but it never fails at least once a week if not more I’m awaken with that horrible feeling of acid rushing up with partially digested food to threaten to come out my mouth and all over the sheets, what a mess that would make! Instead, I sit up in bed and wait for it to calm down, then slowly slide down on the pillows until im drifting off to sleep again, chasing dreams of food without consequence…
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
pt2
I hear the school bus pull up outside and the voices of the little kiddies getting off and running home. I know it is 4:20 now cause that’s when the bus always arrives. I usually lie around during the day like this, taking my time, enjoying my freedom.
Man I got some gross shit percolatin down there! If I don’t have cancer of the colon by now, it’ll happen soon with all the bad crap I eat. All the greasy, fake, plastic, formulated, scientifically made-up stuff? It’s made to kill you, that’s why Americans are dying so young of Cancer and Heart Disease, cause they put in all the food. I think that’s what makes it taste so good! I love thinking of what im gonna eat that day. Lets see, I went by the donut place for breakfast, McDonalds for lunch, Sizzler for dinner, and of course dessert and snacks from the fridge throughout the night… think I’ll stay with the donut place today, im a regular there.
Oh, man, that movement is starting to build up real good now, I still have time for a little nap before its ready to go. Mm, what a comfterble feeling, under the covers, knowing you’re gonna shit- feels like Home.
That wet, warm smell wakes him up to a cloud of his own farts. He knows its time by the feel of the turd about to poke its turtle head out in his underwear- gotta get this thing out before has to clean up one of those messes again. He moves quicker now, out of bed and into the hall surprisingly nimble, like that long-ago sea lion. He leaves the light off and the door open in the bathroom, pulls the big underwear down and places his white ass on the cold toilet seat which causes him to giggle like a little girl.
Then things get nasty. He grunts and coughs and tries to force it out but it wont come. He moves his ass around on the toilet, bends over, sits up strait, trying to find the right position to get rid of it- the thing tantalizingly hangs there but just wont drop- its held in place somehow, by a thin chord of intestine lining or something. Starting to sweat again, red-faced, and crying out to himself in a way that the neighbors might even hear, he finally does the unthinkable: lifts his ass off the seat, reaches under there with the left hand, searching, finds the log, traces with fingers up the length of it where it’s coming out of him, and pinches it off.
Plop! The satisfying sound of the shit hitting the water and settling down in the bowl. He breathes a sigh of relief and massages his chest with the good hand, feeling like he almost gave himself a heart attack. He gives himself a minute to recover, let the chest stop heaving and return to normal. The rest of the poop wont come off, but that’s ok; he sits up from the toilet and reaches into the shower to turn on the water. As the water warms up, he prepares himself to make the transfer from toilet seat to shower without getting any poop on anything.
Man, I don’t know what I need to add to my diet to make sure that never happens again, but I need to find out!
My back aches. My neck throbs. My stomach is sore. My legs are numb. My thighes ache- I am getting old. Nothing is young anymore… its all old by default now. Maybe the vegetarian thing is a new path. Today I decided to be a vegetarian or something. Its been over 25 hours since I last ate meat, a tendergrilled chicken salad from burger king- wonder how long it will last, no more meat- no more dead cows, no more dead chickens…
The newspaper thumps on the driveway outside. Its 5am and im still drinking, as usual.
I lean my head back and drain the last beer-
I am a disgusting fat body, about 50 pounds overweight, loving it and hating it…
Man I got some gross shit percolatin down there! If I don’t have cancer of the colon by now, it’ll happen soon with all the bad crap I eat. All the greasy, fake, plastic, formulated, scientifically made-up stuff? It’s made to kill you, that’s why Americans are dying so young of Cancer and Heart Disease, cause they put in all the food. I think that’s what makes it taste so good! I love thinking of what im gonna eat that day. Lets see, I went by the donut place for breakfast, McDonalds for lunch, Sizzler for dinner, and of course dessert and snacks from the fridge throughout the night… think I’ll stay with the donut place today, im a regular there.
Oh, man, that movement is starting to build up real good now, I still have time for a little nap before its ready to go. Mm, what a comfterble feeling, under the covers, knowing you’re gonna shit- feels like Home.
That wet, warm smell wakes him up to a cloud of his own farts. He knows its time by the feel of the turd about to poke its turtle head out in his underwear- gotta get this thing out before has to clean up one of those messes again. He moves quicker now, out of bed and into the hall surprisingly nimble, like that long-ago sea lion. He leaves the light off and the door open in the bathroom, pulls the big underwear down and places his white ass on the cold toilet seat which causes him to giggle like a little girl.
Then things get nasty. He grunts and coughs and tries to force it out but it wont come. He moves his ass around on the toilet, bends over, sits up strait, trying to find the right position to get rid of it- the thing tantalizingly hangs there but just wont drop- its held in place somehow, by a thin chord of intestine lining or something. Starting to sweat again, red-faced, and crying out to himself in a way that the neighbors might even hear, he finally does the unthinkable: lifts his ass off the seat, reaches under there with the left hand, searching, finds the log, traces with fingers up the length of it where it’s coming out of him, and pinches it off.
Plop! The satisfying sound of the shit hitting the water and settling down in the bowl. He breathes a sigh of relief and massages his chest with the good hand, feeling like he almost gave himself a heart attack. He gives himself a minute to recover, let the chest stop heaving and return to normal. The rest of the poop wont come off, but that’s ok; he sits up from the toilet and reaches into the shower to turn on the water. As the water warms up, he prepares himself to make the transfer from toilet seat to shower without getting any poop on anything.
Man, I don’t know what I need to add to my diet to make sure that never happens again, but I need to find out!
My back aches. My neck throbs. My stomach is sore. My legs are numb. My thighes ache- I am getting old. Nothing is young anymore… its all old by default now. Maybe the vegetarian thing is a new path. Today I decided to be a vegetarian or something. Its been over 25 hours since I last ate meat, a tendergrilled chicken salad from burger king- wonder how long it will last, no more meat- no more dead cows, no more dead chickens…
The newspaper thumps on the driveway outside. Its 5am and im still drinking, as usual.
I lean my head back and drain the last beer-
I am a disgusting fat body, about 50 pounds overweight, loving it and hating it…
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
pt1
I am a disgusting fat body. I am so gross and swollen it is absolutely disgusting to me; it is revolting; even I repel myself, I can only imagine how grotesque I appear to other people. I am already more offended by myself than you could ever be.
He rolled over in bed and tried to sit up but the rolls of fat in his belly prevented him- he grunted and grimaced and produced a slim, squeaky fart from underneath and fell back onto the pillows, panting with effort. Just reaching for his nighttime snack had produced a sweat on his pasty white skin. He sat there breathing heavily, saturating the sheets, and stared at the meat sandwich with a few bites taken out of it. he always liked to leave himself some for the morning, then he wouldn’t have to get out of bed for breakfast for awhile. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength for another try.
Laying there on the mound of propped up pillows, arms at his sides, eyes closed, mouth left open, rolls of flesh pressing the bed down into an indent the shape of his familiar body, he looked like nothing more than one of those big sea lions that sun themselves on the beach- he had seen one with Stacy the summer they met; it snored loudly as they each took a picture of the other standing beside it, then it had woken up and moved quicker than you would think and almost knocked her aside. She screamed and was going to jump into his arms but he was already retreating from it. The thing simply moved farther up the beach for a few moments more sunning away from the tourists, and she stood there looking at him with disappointment but he laughed to cover it up and would always tell people how she had screamed and ran that day on the beach, and she would just stare at him as he guffawed… that’s what he remembered most about her, that disappointed glare- he ignored it then, but it seemed to tear right thru him now, even from years away.
He felt like that thing now, huge and basking, but there was no sun in his stale room, and he was not preserving his strength for a reach at the blinds, but for a reach at.. that.. Sandwich!! He dove for it and grabbed it, and fell back on the pillows in one rolling motion, the echoes of fat subsiding as he shoved the sandwich into his mouth repeatedly until there was none left, and smiled in a distant, pleased way.
Still tastes good 8 hours later, he thinks; there’s something about food that sits out for a while, it almost tastes better than when it comes out of the fridge or out of the package. You gotta get the air on it, he thinks, let a few flies shit on it- get that natural taste to it. a wide grin forms on his wide face and the many folds of chin begin to laugh one after the other in a cascading effect, like a waterfall of flesh, all the way down to his spread out belly where the sandwich parts are beginning to digest along with everything else he ate last night. I’m gonna have to take a shit soon, he thought, but not quite yet. He floats for a while, not really asleep, but not awake either.
He rolled over in bed and tried to sit up but the rolls of fat in his belly prevented him- he grunted and grimaced and produced a slim, squeaky fart from underneath and fell back onto the pillows, panting with effort. Just reaching for his nighttime snack had produced a sweat on his pasty white skin. He sat there breathing heavily, saturating the sheets, and stared at the meat sandwich with a few bites taken out of it. he always liked to leave himself some for the morning, then he wouldn’t have to get out of bed for breakfast for awhile. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength for another try.
Laying there on the mound of propped up pillows, arms at his sides, eyes closed, mouth left open, rolls of flesh pressing the bed down into an indent the shape of his familiar body, he looked like nothing more than one of those big sea lions that sun themselves on the beach- he had seen one with Stacy the summer they met; it snored loudly as they each took a picture of the other standing beside it, then it had woken up and moved quicker than you would think and almost knocked her aside. She screamed and was going to jump into his arms but he was already retreating from it. The thing simply moved farther up the beach for a few moments more sunning away from the tourists, and she stood there looking at him with disappointment but he laughed to cover it up and would always tell people how she had screamed and ran that day on the beach, and she would just stare at him as he guffawed… that’s what he remembered most about her, that disappointed glare- he ignored it then, but it seemed to tear right thru him now, even from years away.
He felt like that thing now, huge and basking, but there was no sun in his stale room, and he was not preserving his strength for a reach at the blinds, but for a reach at.. that.. Sandwich!! He dove for it and grabbed it, and fell back on the pillows in one rolling motion, the echoes of fat subsiding as he shoved the sandwich into his mouth repeatedly until there was none left, and smiled in a distant, pleased way.
Still tastes good 8 hours later, he thinks; there’s something about food that sits out for a while, it almost tastes better than when it comes out of the fridge or out of the package. You gotta get the air on it, he thinks, let a few flies shit on it- get that natural taste to it. a wide grin forms on his wide face and the many folds of chin begin to laugh one after the other in a cascading effect, like a waterfall of flesh, all the way down to his spread out belly where the sandwich parts are beginning to digest along with everything else he ate last night. I’m gonna have to take a shit soon, he thought, but not quite yet. He floats for a while, not really asleep, but not awake either.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
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