If Seattle, Washington can be described as the armpit of the Puget Sound than Fatman guessed that would make Everett, Washington the ass crack. It wasn’t that either of those places were that bad to live in or anything, he mused, it’s just that like armpits and ass-cracks, sometimes they can just stink. Oh sure, you can do some fun things in armpits or ass cracks…well, at least one of those… but if one is not careful you could really end up a mess.
Take for example, the readily available fast food establishments and restaurants literally within walking distance of his house. Not that Fatman would actually WALK to any of those places mind you. That would take effort. But should he WANT to waddle his fat ass out to his car and drive a half block or two he could engorge himself on all the fast food, grease bombs, or calorie laden goodness his fat ass could stomach and thus, Fatman had indeed ended up in a shitty fat mess once again.
Staring at his now empty Wendy’s take-out bag laying beside him, Fatman suddenly realized that something had gone horribly wrong somewhere. He’d lost over forty pounds before moving to Everett two years ago and was excited to start a new life as a slightly less rotund super hero. Yet, over the course of months and now years, the comfy lifestyle and easy access to high caloric foods had taken it’s toll.
Once again Fatman felt ashamed of himself and not wanting to go out in public. He feared those uncomfortable wide eyed looks friends and family who hadn’t seen him for while would give and worse yet their horrifically uncomfortable question, “So, hows’ the diet going?”
“Go fuck yourself,” is what Fatman imagined saying in response. “What’s it look like? Do you think I enjoy wearing my belt buckle above my navel to keep my pants from falling off in public? Eat a dick. In fact, eat a whole bag of them!”
But truth be told, Fatman knew his friends meant well. They were not TRYING to hurt his feelings by asking about the diet. They were not trying to be insulting when they suggested that maybe it was a great time to start blogging again as Fatman. They were TRYING to be supportive and Fatman knew it. Still, it kind of felt like armpits and assholes around here.
Fatman reluctantly pulled out his skin tight super hero leggings, cape and mask and once again donned his battle gear. “I’m back motherfucker,” he growled to himself in the bathroom mirror. “I’m back.” And with that Fatman brushed out the remaining rainbow-donut sprinkles from his salt and pepper goatee and headed out to take some ass…er, kick some ass.
Man this stinks.