The following is merely intended to be a fictitious, humorous story.
Most stories in this blog carry something of a ‘social message’.
No story is intended to be judgemental.
Some readers may find content offensive, but there is little that one wouldn’t find in a post-watershed sitcom.
I like my mobile phone. It’s nearly twenty years old. I can make and receive calls and just recently, I have mastered the art of sending text messages.
The missus rammed the arse-end of my mobile phone into my forehead.
“Why did you do that?” I enquired.
“Because you lied!”
“Lied about what?”
“You said you weren’t going down the pub tonight!” she screamed, just inches from my face.
“Why are you wearing a suit then?”
I was wearing my fetching banana-yellow suit.
“I am wearing a suit, my petal, because I have been asked to attend a meeting addressing the problems of crime and law enforcement in the town. The meeting is being held at the Town Hall Offices and I thought it only right to show some respect and dress accordingly.”
Rubbing my head, I continued. “There will be many dignitaries and people of note there. However, I doubt there will be many attending that have an impression of a Nokia charging point...stamped on their fucking head!”
“Well, you look very nice, dear.”
I arrived at the town hall in a timely fashion and joined the pre-meeting buffet.
I grabbed a plate and went to the buffet table. A truly enormous woman, perspiring profusely, stood next to me. Her plate resembled a landfill site. In fact, so much food was piled on her plate that she would not have looked out of place performing a balancing act in the Russian State Circus.
“Good evening, madam.”
“Good evening, sir,” she replied. “Have we met before?”
“ I think not, madam. Are you one of our much respected lady councillors?”
“Oh, no, sir. I merely record the minutes of the meeting,” she answered, heaping yet more food on her plate. “I really don’t know why I carry a little extra on my hips, when all I get to eat these days is the pickings from these endless council buffets.”
Right, I thought, if she’s not a councillor, I can put a halt to the pleasantries.
“Madam, just last week I watched a documentary following two years in the life of a polar bear. At one stage, the polar bear had been stranded on a drifting ice floe in the Arctic Ocean for over seven months, with nothing to eat. Eventually, though, the ice floe drifted towards a landmass and, at last, the polar bear could hunt for food.”
I had a quick munch on a chicken drumstick and carried on talking.
”Even this poor, malnourished creature, starved to the point of death, could only manage to devour two seals and a walrus. A mere morsel compared to the colossus of calories that towers upon your plate.”
She looked at me with a blank expression.
“In short, madam, you are a behemoth of buffets. You redefine the word obese. Were you in space, you would be called Planet Fat. And orbiting you there would be the two moons, your breasts, named Lard and Dripping.”
In a state of shock, she listened to my further words:
“And around this gelatinous glob of space grease, there would be the spectacular sight of the mighty Sweat Rings spreading out odorously into the universe, just as they now spread from your festering armpits.”
I took another bite from the drumstick.
“Your cosmic fate will be your inevitable inability to support your own mass. Your cholesterol-laden body will collapse back onto itself, sucking in all that surrounds it, and for the rest of time you will be at the centre of the newly-formed Galaxy of Gluttony…a celestial lump of detritus”
She dropped her plate and everyone in the room turned to look for the source of the ‘thud’ as it impacted on the town hall shag pile.
I smiled at her.
She burst into tears and wobbled from the room as fast as she could manage.
So, there would be no official record of the night’s proceedings.
The evening was going well.
A man walked up to me.
“What’s up with her?” he asked.
“Dunno.” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.
He looked at me.
“Hey!” he said, pointing at my head, “Nokia, right?”
To be continued.