Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Tag Archives: weird

Almost Strangers Almost on an Almost Train

“Honey, we’ve gone over this; Jane and I are just catching up today.


“No, no, no, I’d never do anything like that; it’d be like eating Jif when you’ve got Skippy waiting at home. Look, you and I have been married eleven wonderful years. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—throw all this away for some choosy, opinionated mom in a railcar-style diner.


“Don’t worry about a thing. Jane and I were together for, maybe, three weeks back when were fresh out of college. She’s essentially a stranger at this point, a boring, weak-tea-and-water-flavored-oatmeal-ordering stranger. You’re the keeper. Fun, a little daring, you’re the one I chose to share my life with. Jane’s no keeper; she’s more like taupe wallpaper: static, particular, and painfully bland.


“I couldn’t tell you specifics; it’s been close to twenty years since I’ve seen her. Really, I’m remembering across-the-board average: not pretty enough or freakish enough to turn heads. Made-for-TV-movie forgettable. You’re much more attractive, okay? Is that the ego boost you’re looking for? Fine, yes, if we must, we can rehash that everyone I ever dated before you was a filthy tramp crafted out of nothing more than wickedness and cellulite.


“Wait, honey, that’s brilliant. Jane would be perfect; she’s oozing with pure nondescript unremarkableness! I can see it now, ‘Be on the lookout for an ordinary, possibly Caucasian, bipedal, carbon-based maybe-woman wearing muted tones and being likely some number of years old.’ The police would be stumped; Jane’d never be caught, let alone ever linked back to us.


“No, stop, no more second guessing; it was a good idea and it’s the right thing to do. Uncle Rich has been squandering away his fortune, our owed inheritance, in that assisted-care facility long enough. Sponge baths, cable, electricity for his breathing machine, glamor enemas, he’s become unbearably frivolous! We get Plain Jane in there, she inadvertently pulls his plug, I’ll yank out a life-sustaining plug or two in her life or maybe, like, clean her gutters or something, and we’re good. A little guilt-riddled, but financially set. Crisscross.


“It just makes sense; the numbers don’t lie. Neither of our parents will give us the money to support our lifestyle. Neither of us can get the hours at work. We’re already on our second mortgage and creditors are calling every day. At this point we just need to do what’s right for us. It’s the best option. Family comes first, and immediate family comes before nearly-dead, flush-with-cash uncle.


“We can’t waver. This could solve everything. It’s our Hail Mary but desperate times call for desperate measures and if we’re going to have the funds in place to buy a new speedboat in time for summer we need him to die ASAP. I just can’t wait to see our so-called friends, green with envy, as the two of us zip around the lake on our new forty-footer, no longer the laughingstock of the club. This will be our summer, baby; an uncle murder is a small price to pay to finally achieve affluence and social status.


“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll press Jane to get this done quick; I think the boat show’s in town next weekend.”

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The Overweight Coalition Plans Recruitment

“Easy, easy, simmer down, there’s plenty of scraps for everyone in this office fridge.

“No one’s actually talking, but if the louder chewers could keep it down that’d be appreciated. We have actual business to discuss—Friday Fridge Cleanout isn’t just grazing this week.

“I don’t need to tell you guys; it’s on the tip of our collective tongue just as much as this still-okay, three-day-old lasagna. It’s the new guy, Alex. Ever since that trim motherfucker first sauntered up this office’s half-flight of stairs without panting or dry heaving two Mondays ago he’s been cramping this workplace’s happily-fat habits with his blatantly healthy lifestyle.

“Okay, slow your rolls. I’m noting a mist of anger and mouth crumbs forming and we don’t need anyone to pull a jowel here. We’ll all have a chance to speak out about Alex; no one needs to risk choking on these mildly-stale macaroons we foraged.

“Alex is the real deal, burley brothers and stout sisters. Restraint, pants in normal sizes, self-respect—this kid’ll be tough to break. In just ten days here I’ve watched him turn down donuts on numerous occasions. I overheard him ask for vegetarian options during Meat Tray Monday. And he smugly declined my offer of drawn butter yesterday. He left me looking like the one asshole in the break room with no self-control who puts drawn butter on his tuna salad sandwich.

“Enough is enough. I’m tired of his passive fat shaming—every time he turns something down it’s like he’s stating he’s too good for our high-calorie, high-fructose, high-flavor lifestyle. I ask you all, how can we be expected to feel comfortable gorging in a den riddled with his unspoken, skinny judgment? Our life-shortening practices deserve support, and this time I don’t just mean from our girdles.

“We’ve been lucky with the apathetically-hefty hirings the company’s made over the last two years; however, I’m afraid we’re going to need to begin active recruitment.  It can be done, people. Henderson here was the last one we converted and look at him now: face-deep in container of four-day-old pasta salad that he’s doused with Thousand Island dressing.  You’re an inspiration to us all, Henderson; glad to have you on board.

“Henderson, you went willingly. Alex might be tougher. But, much like our champion tug-of-war team, if we all pull together I think we can effectively guilt him into gaining through a covert artery-clogging assault.

“We’ll start each morning.  I’ll get here early with cream-heavy donuts or cream-heavy bagels and leave one at his desk on a napkin with his name on it. The draw will be too great. Only a diabetic sociopath would be able throw anything that sweet away. Soon he’ll be hooked and it’ll be part of his routine.  I’ll dispense the butter misters, too. All of us can stealthily tack on calories whenever he leaves his food unattended.

“Further, we’ll begin holding a ‘raffle’ each week and of course we’ll fix it so that Alex always wins the gift cards to T.G.I.Friday’s.  That place will be perfect—even just a side salad and a glass of water will run him north of 1,000 calories at Total-Gravy Indulgence Friday’s.

“Last, and I think this should go without saying, we’ll start up the perpetual birthday racket.  I’ll run point, but I want everyone here claiming a ‘birthday’ within the next three weeks. With this we’ll be able to peddle heaping mounds of cake and ice cream on him daily and justify it all with ‘inclusiveness’.

“Of course, if our scheme to fatten him up doesn’t take, we’ll just do things the old-fashioned way and send him an anonymous series of menacingly sexual threats before setting his car on fire.”

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