May 19, 2004

  • --------HERE ARE THE FIRST 2 PARAGRAPHS OF "FAT BOY"------- 


    He’s standing in front of Spaghetti Eddies.  A fat tub of lard.  A fat cheeked smile as he waits for the customers to start arriving.  He’s six feet tall, size seventeen shoes, with that tub of lard fat fiberglass belly.  He stands there with his stupid fiberglass fat chef’s hat on his big fat head.  His hippo face is staring and smiling.  His big fat fingers hold onto the peeling red-and-white-checkered apron on the rusty, white, collared, button-up long sleeve shirt that squeezes the fat of his belly that pushes the shirt that pushes the apron that pushes the hands like a helium balloon.  If only he would float away.  But his belly is full of cheese and pasta and beef and fat and lard and gas, but not that kind of gas that’s lighter than air.  That fat smiling fat ass. 


    There’s a boot on the sidewalk, an ugly, faded, creased, paisley-patterned, little girl’s blue cowboy boot.  It’s there so I throw it at his fat face.