Story of Morality

Good Afternoon, as you know I am trying my attempt at writing a story. With this poor endeavor on rendering my witty brainchild on paper, please keep in mind that this piece of hodgepodge will in no way be a humdinger, jocular, or whimsical. Read on if you dare, but in the end, it will just yield bafflement.

 

 

                             Phase I

           

One fine wintery sunny day a young man, with a song of tryst flowing through his veins, was playing hopscotch. I know what you’re thinking. Why, if this said young man had a tryst song coursing through his veins, would he be wasting his time hopping and skipping up and down pavement? I could not agree with you more, this guy is completely out to lunch. That is why we are going to leave this half-baked moron to his stupid sidewalk game and get on to the main characters of this narration. In a world of such grandeur, hundreds of miles away from the dunce skipping around pebbles, there lived a super fat family. Again, I get it. You can look anywhere and see a fat family. This however, was an abundantly whale like confederacy. So plump in fact, that they bath in a vat of gravy, with chunks of chicken breasts as tub toys. Amazingly enough, neither the gravy nor the toys of breast (chicken) survive more than one family member at a time. My god were these people fat. When they were not eating, I mean bathing, they could be found sunken into a cushion on an oversized broken couch, watching southern cooking shows and stuffing fingers of chicken and cheese into the man-hole openings on their sasquatch like heads. Oh the stench that emanated from their fat shack. You get the drift, they were plump, so I will cease on the details of the family O-Fatty (yes that is the last name).

 

            Now the O-Fatty family may be abundantly large, but that doesn’t take away the compassion that they have for “special” people. Father O-Fatty and mother O-Fatty are constantly waddling down the street (I use constantly very loosely her, most of the time they are gravy bathing or eating cheese sticks) helping any “special” person, in any type of situation. The O-Fatty children were not as donating and helpful as their parents. Brother O-Fatty and his sister O-Fatty did not leave the house in hot waddling pursuit of a “special” individual to help. In fact, these two rotund beasts usually spent the day rolling themselves across the dirty floor looking for scraps of food in between meal times.  This act of rolement actually killed two birds with one stone. Not only were they able to sometimes find a vast amount of food on the ground, but it also got them dirty enough to be able to take an afternoon tub. Apparently they really enjoyed their tub toy breasts of chicken. The O-Fatty children’s lack of compassion for the less fortunate infuriated the O-Fatty parents, so much so in fact that they stopped using real gravy and just started using powdered gravy as well as switched to chicken thighs for the children’s tub time.

 

            Bother O-Fatty one day became very fed up with the lack of gravy consistency in the tub and decided to run away in search of thicker pastures. He packed all his essentials, loaded up the moped (cause there isn’t much funnier than a fat kid on a scooter), and set off into the late night. He drove for hours and hours. He had actually went over six hours without as much of a piece of gum to tide over his roaring stomach. Finally, after what seemed like hundreds of miles, brother O-Fatty stopped to tend to his lingering hunger. It was morning, and he searched for a buffet to put out of business. After a moment of frantic scanning, his mouth started to flow with saliva when he noticed The Old Country Kitchen just down the street. Excitement was in the air as our rotund beast bounded (and really I mean waddled slowly) down the street towards the home of endless mashed potatoes and green lime jello, and of course gravy. He moved with the grace of a ballerina, if in fact you remember those old cartoons where they had hippos dress in tutus and dance. He was so enamored with the thought of all the food stuffing he was going to do, he did not noticed he was crossing a busy intersection full of traveling semi-trucks barreling down the road at speeds close to that of light (that’s a falsehood, as really it was a highway, so the fastest they could go would be 55 mph). Out of the corner of brother O-Fatty’s eye he saw the shining front of a chrome bumper. It was too late, that triple trailer smacked that fat b*****d high and far into the air. Brother O-Fatty was dead upon impact, and as his greasy, lumpy body flew through the air, you could hear murmurs from the on looking crowd. “Oh my God, it’s a meteorite, no it’s the moon going to crash into the earth, no wait its just a really fat kid….my my is that a fat son of b***h” The humungous flew across the highway and landed in a nearby park.

 

            At first all was quiet, not even the birds chirped. When brother O-Fatty landed though, it was a blood curdling sound of moist (threw that in for you) flesh land on a “special” young man playing hopscotch. The scene was gruesome. Two people were splattered to death. One a oleaginous, jelly-bellied, selfish boy, another a feeble-minded, bird-brained young man. A loss that will be felt by no one, but cleaned up and remembered by many.

 

 

Moral of the story

It’s fine to be pudgy, but don’t be selfish and hate people who are less fortunate then you. If you are, soon something bigger will most likely knock the stuffing out of you. And it is fine to be special (I in fact love special people, I want one for Christmas), but if your special and you find someone who wants to meet you for an encounter of love, don’t waste your time playing hopscotch. It’s a kid’s game for crying out loud. Go meet your lady and become a real man. Otherwise you may get crushed by a flying roly poly corps who used to hate “special people”.   

 

Thomas Walter