I sat down in a hurry to stuff my face with every piece I could get my grubby hands on. One, two, six slices piled high. A bit of Tabasco as punishment. Every bite stole another breath from my lungs. It was an even exchange as far as I was concerned. I could always breathe when I was done gorging. What the hell does a fat fuck like me need to breathe? I was the walking dead already. Maybe the mostly sitting dead anyway.
I just kept chewing, gnashing and gnawing every stringy doughy bite of bullshit that I over-ordered to prove my coupon pride. You have to get extra. It’s a steal. Are you kidding me? A free liter of Frank’s Fizzy Fuck-all? I’ll take two with a side of stroke.
You don’t give up on the mission.You have to commit. Swallow it all or the socialist freedom haters win. And you don’t want them telling you what to eat. Oh no. They want you to gag down bowls a rabbit food. RABBIT FOOD THE FUCKERS! I’m a man dammit. Lettuce is a sorry excuse for a vegetable any day of the week. The bastard doesn’t even try so why should I give a damn if it sits there. It’s job is to sit in the middle of my sandwich as the reminder that it isn’t totally unhealthy and maybe I don’t have to let go of the wheel of the car honey ‘cuz it’ll be just fine.
So I kept eating. Every damn slice I could slide down the slope of the throat. I ate until I thought I was gonna die and wished that I would. Just dropped dead right there at the shitty table in the shitty kitchen of a shitty restaurant on the shitty block of a nowhere, nothing, nobody, no-name, town. Just a lump a lard like every other tubby son of a bitch in the suburban sprawl stuffing themselves into windbreakers and khaki shorts.
I could wear one those shirts they always get. The ones that have too much going on to make out the head from the ass end with some quasi-patriotic design off centered and the words “Big Dog’s Chopper American Motorcycle Freedom Fighter Potato Head Gear Unltd.” or whatever the fuck those idiots put on it. I could stand out like a tan dot on beige wall. Maybe clip a phone to my braided leather belt and tuck my t-shirt in to hold up the gut that just started bleeding from the Tabasco covered deep dish nightmare I slopped down. And I slopped that bad boy down!
I couldn’t stop. Not now. I had to have a special kind of hate to keep it going, but I rolled that shit ass tasteless pie like a tire down a hill and into traffic. BAM! It hits the guard rail on the side of digestive road. A trigger effect takes hold as each and every car that follows tries to slam on the mozzarella brakes. But it was too late.
The pile up was massive, traffic stopped dead in my swollen abdomen. I was one bloated bastard of a bear wincing as I waddled toward the lot. Not a single piece of that dreadful swill they called food was going to get through the wreckage. As I stumbled, old faithful rumbled and no sooner had I said “thar she blows” that it did. Oh it did. Suddenly I was now the human zit, poppin’ while my joints where lockin’. “HELP ME! HELP Muahghkdfjlsdkjfladfa….pfft…pfft…oh shit….oh shit….oh gwarrrrrgggglllll…pffft….ughhhhhh.”
The cycle was complete. I had earned my red, white, and blue and a quintuple bypass at a participating dealership, void were prohibited. I heard the chants of the adoring crowd. U.S.A.! U.S.A! My personal fireworks show set me among the greats as my guts filled the sky. The balding doctor with a beer belly of steel, the nurse choking on her Pall Malls, the cankle-laden sows that rascal stomp the mega marts looking for Easy Mac by the fucking ream, none of them could touch me now. For now, I was a glutton. A proud member of the oldest tradition in American history. I didn’t have to, but I did. I didn’t need to, but I took it. Fuck Sally Struthers and those oatmeal stealing shits she’s pimpin’. I’m an American dammit. My daddy’s daddy didn’t join the reserves so that a bunch of foreigners could take Quaker out of the cereal bowls of our children. I ate that damned pizza until I wasted every last cheesy chunk all over the pot-holed pavement of that Chuck-E-Cheese. I did it for my children. I did it because I love freedom. I did it for the god damned coupon. But most of all, I did it because I’m miserable. Hallelujah!