Don’t you just hate when someone spoils a movie, or a book, or a show, and they don’t even get the spoiler right?
There goes my possible streak!
These are the thoughts running through my mind as I trudge my way through the halls, head down, my robe trailing along behind me as I drag it along the dirty ground. I just don’t have the energy it seems. With my large belly proceeding me, I nudge the door to the Bandit locker room open and slink on inside.
Cancer Jiles slowly raises his head from across the room, defeat clear on his face. Taking one look at me, he simply shakes his head and turns his attention back to whatever it was he was doing before I arrived.
I’m sure it was something interesting…
Heading across the room I stop before my locker and plop my large rotund behind down into my chair, causing it to creak ominously with the sudden addition of a load that definitely exceeds its recommended maximum.
Digging through my bag I begin the arduous post-match routine when a thought suddenly strikes me. I shouldn’t have lost that match. A thought so profound I feel the need to share it aloud.
“I shouldn’t have lost that match!” I proclaim, causing Cancer to slowly look up, with a look of annoyance mixed with slight intrigue on his face. Almost as if he asking himself, “Where is he gonna go with this…”
“Quick, what’s the number to that Better Business Bureau thing?” I ask while quickly reaching into my equipment bag, digging around for my phone.
“You mean the Tripe B?” the COOLympain asks, clear confusion in his voice.
“Get your head out of the gutter man, for once!” I pause a moment in my search to admonish my friend, looking at him with disapproval. “I’m not talking about boobies here, I’m talking about business.”
“Boobies?” Jiles parrots back, still clearly confused. “Where did you get boobies?”
“God? Genetics? Poor dietary choices?” I begin to name off the many options, not quite sure why he’s asking about my bosom at a time like this. “My mom is stacked, so I mean, really take you pick.”
Shaking his head at the sudden turn in conversation, Jiles begins to pat the air as if to say “woah, woah, woah.” “Listen, can we start over here?”
“Sure.” I answer, thinking that that would be a really good idea. “What’s the name for the Better Business Bureau?”
“Right, the Triple B.” Cancer reiterates, causing me to groan, and once again scowl at my shaded friend. “I’m still not talking about boobies!”
“Right, right, the Better Business Bureau.” Jiles clarifies, forgetting the commonly known nickname. “What do you need with them, Bobbo?”
“I need to file a complaint,” I state as if it wasn’t obvious. “I got swindled tonight, and I can’t let that go unpunished!”
“How did you get swindled?” Mr. Cool ponders before following up with, “And who did you get swindled by?”
“Tsonda.” Jiles corrects.
“Tomato, tomato.” I deadpan back, pausing momentarily after saying that phrase to think, does that phrase translate in text as well as it does spoken aloud? “Sanada made a deal with me. He offered to lie down tonight if I paid him. Well, I scrounged up every penny I could find and paid the man. Then he pulls the ole bait and switch of “Beautiful” Bobby Dean and next thing I know I’m the one lying on the mat with two handfuls of my glorious bush missing.”
“You’re really gonna make me go back and watch this match, aren’t ya?” Jiles asks, wondering just what happened to his rotund friend tonight.
“Bah, I lost, he won.” I state with finality, as if the outcome weren’t obvious. “Story of our lives, eh?”
“Soooooo, you want to report Tsonda?” The COOL One asks, getting us back to the topic at hand, as I finally find my phone, raising in the air triumphantly. “I hate to break it to ya big guy, but I don’t think it’ll work.”
“Why not?” I ask, while dialing 411 for information.
“*static*11, what’s your emergency?” the informational operator asks.
“Yes, I need the number to the Better Business Bureau.” I state, and then realize my manners, “Please.”
“The Better…” the operator pauses while looking up the information, assumedly. “You’re calling 911 for the number to the Triple B?”
“I swear, what’s going on with everyone and boobies today?” I ask the room at large. “No, ma’am, I’m calling 411 for the number to the Better Business Bureau.”
“Sir.” the frustrated, and clearly angry informational operator begins with a frosty tone. “You did not dial 411, you dialed 911. Now if there is not an emergency to report, I must insist that you hang up this minute.”
“Ohhhhh,” I answer while looking down at my chubby sausage fingers with a look of absolute betrayal. “I’m sorry, I must have fat-fingered it.”
“How rude, she didn’t even offer to transfer me over to the 411 department.” I comment as Cancer Jiles is forced to lean back in his seat, staring at me with a look of astonishment on his face. “I mean, isn’t the 411 department 5 doors down? Heck, she could have walked down there and asked for the number herself. People are getting lazier and lazier CJ.”
Phone in hand I begin to type in “Triple B” in the Bing search bar. Surprise surprise, the first result is a link to Pornhub…
I turn my phone to Cancer and say triumphantly, “See! Boobies!”
“You typed in Triple X…” Jiles answers with defeat in his voice. “I give up…”
“Arg!” I scream out, once again looking at the dastardly fingers before me. “FAT FINGERS!!!!”
“What am I doing here?” I ask the car, not for the first time.
My daughter, having just pulled the car into the parking spot marked for
“Donut Dreams Parking Only!
30 Minutes or You Will Be Towed”
I heard if you center align, or add color you’re more likely to win. Uncle Hollywood told me that. Shhhhh! Don’t tell him I told you.
“Dad, we’ve been over this a million times.” Belle begins the explanation for the umpteenth time. “Doozer found this place and swears by them. He says since he’s been under he’s been having the time of his life out on the waters. He’s no longer waking up from that recurring nightmare.”
“The one where Lee Best calls him and yells at him before physically coming out of the phone to strangle him?” I ask, as if it could be any other nightmare.
“Yes. He said that he’s no longer looking over his shoulder everywhere he goes, or wondering if everyone is mad at him. He’s even started eating Frosted Flakes again, without the overwhelming feeling of irony.”
“That’s cool and all, for him, but why am I here?” I ask, again, for the umpteenth and one time. “When I dream of Lee it’s usually him on his old dilapidated knees begging me to return to HOW. I also don’t care if everyone is mad at me, I’m too lovable to hate. And, as you know, I will happily eat a bowl of Frosted Flakes all day, every day. So again, why am I here?”
Umpteenth and two.
Sighing with frustration my daughter doesn’t bother to answer, she simply opens her door and angrily throws herself out of the car, slamming the door shut as she goes. Having successfully annoyed my child sufficiently enough, I begin the difficult, almost death defying, act of climbing out of the car, chuckling as my daughter is stomping her way towards the glass door of the weirdest looking Donut shop I’ve ever seen.
With a rumbling belly, and the thought of six jelly filled donuts soon to be devoured coursing through me, I happily follow in her wake.
What a fucking sham.
If I ever found the number to the Better Business Bureau, I’d be calling them right now! Who names their place Donut Dreams, but then doesn’t sell a single. God. Damned. Donut!
“Your daughter and I have been discussing your possible treatment for a few weeks now.” The doctor, Tommy Ribbons, says as I sit on a faux leather couch with my arms crossed under my impressive chest, scowling murderously out into the empty air. Refusing to make eye contact, refusing to acknowledge this sham, refusing to participate in anything other than absolute loathing.
I mean, seriously, not a single donut!?
“I think with a session, or two, we can help with not only your confidence but we can give you a positive outlook on life. Belle has told me how you tend to constantly put yourself down, underselling yourself, going out of your way to remain in the background so as not to overshadow those around you,” he continues to yammer away as my mind is simply a kaleidoscope of doughy jam filled goodies.
“It’s a defense mechanism. To hide, cowering behind walls so that you cannot get hurt by people. It’s a common thing, especially in the more rotund individuals. They’re afraid of being judged, or condemned by those not suffering from the same infliction.”
Blueberry Cake Glazed
“But really, inner beauty is the easiest thing in the world to see when you’re looking for it. The brain sees what the heart wants it to feel. Haven’t you ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”
“You’ve got a habit of thinking everyone is judging you by your exterior. We can’t talk about it, we need to break it. I want you to ask yourself, has there ever been a time where you have looked in the mirror and simply despised what you saw staring back at you?”
“DEVILS COME OUT!”
All of a sudden I am enveloped in darkness. I cannot see the hand in front of my face, nor the end of my nose. I can hear a low murmuring invading my thoughts but yet, I’m still surrounded by the pitch black dark. I don’t know if I’m moving, or floating, or if I’m even breathing. I feel nothing. I sense nothing. But the murmuring hum continues to permeate just on the outreaches of my consciousness.
“What are you doing!?” Annabelle Dean demands, standing at the doorway to the small “office” of the hypnotist she found online.
Doctor Tommy Ribbons looks up after having just completed his instructions to his near comatose patient. Smiling, he looks from Bobby to his daughter, and explains, “I’m just finishing our session. I’m actually moments away from bringing him back.”
“No, no, no.” Annabelle stammers, coming into the room further. “You, you, you Shallow Hal’d my dad!”
“Why!?” she demands, as she takes yet another step into the room.
“Listen, I’ve helped people quit smoking. I’ve guided people to stop biting their nails. I’ve helped children to stop having accidents while they sleep. If you can name it, I’ve helped someone through it.” the doctor explains his pedigree while Annabelle stands there dumbfounded. “This was the first time I’ve had an opportunity to try this on a patient, and I can’t wait to see the results!”
“You’ve never done it before!?”
The sound of snapping fingers works itself through my consciousness and the next thing I know I’m waking up on the couch, looking at the smiling face of some doctor and the concerned face of my daughter. Yawning while stretching my arms out, I slowly regain my senses.
“What happened?” I ask, looking from one person to the next.
“Better question,” the doctor says with glee in his voice as he rises to his feet and walks over to the nearby coat closet. “What do you see?”
Tommy Ribbons rips the door open like a magician revealing the magically returned assistant after making her disappear moments ago. With flair and extravagance, Tommy Ribbons presents a door length mirror.
Climbing to my feet I make my way over towards the mirror with measured steps. Standing there looking back at me is…
Perfectly coiffed bleached blonde hair.
Beautifully tanned face with high cheekbones and a granite chiseled chin frames a glistening white smile that would be perfectly suited for a Trident commercial.
Wide shoulders, bulging biceps and a massively muscular chest stretch the California blue tee to its limits. One wrong flex will have the shirt tearing at the seams.
My eyes trail lower, pulling up the tee to reveal the picture perfect 8-pac abs beneath, along with the flaring hip muscles and the zero percent body fat stomach.
The smile on my face slowly spreads wider and wider
“Me! The most “Beautiful” man I’ve ever seen.”
I’m going to make this short and sweet.
You want me at my best? You got it.
You, my sacrificial lamb, are on the way to the slaughter. I will leave you lying broken and defeated in the middle of the ring. And when I’m finished with you, I will turn my attention to all of those that mocked and ridiculed me.
For once, you are going to be MY stepping stone, as I begin my trek to redemption.