AcmeShorts

Hell. I was stuffed. Impossibly stuffed. Stuffed to overflowing. I pushed the table away from me. I ripped open my shirt. My head fell back like a bowling ball on an orchid stem. My mouth fell open. The masticated food at the top of my esophagus pooled with the saliva at the back of my mouth then dribbled out over my lips. I shrieked. I stretched. I pounded the table with my fists. I rubbed my belly. Yawned. I farted. I didn’t give a fat fuck what any of these monkeys thought. I was sated.

If given all the time in the world, I could never describe to you the fervor and urgency—the raw animal need for sustenance—with which I fed myself at the Scranton Ponderosa! I ate a turkey. Broccoli. Turnips. A giant salad. A Mexican salad. Taco after taco. Mashed potatoes. Baked potatoes. Yams. Cups of salsa. Sour cream and guacamole. Meatloaf. Collard greens. Apples. Yogurt. Pizza. Burgers. Pizza burgers. Lasagna. Penne pasta with red sauce. Clams. Buffalo wings. Hot dogs. Chili dogs. A brickette of Velveeta. A bottle of Tobasco. I drank three cups of coffee, six beers and 2 espressos. I ate a sundae with caramel and bananas and chocolate sauce while smoking a pack of cigarettes. I ate Ex-Lax squares and drank laxative tea. I ate 4 bowls of rice then. And Noodles. And mu shu pork. And Thai Massaman curry with pork. I ate spare ribs and top round and rib eye and Swedish meatballs. Rigatoni. More coffee. More cigarettes. A cigar. Another cigar. Beef stew. Oatmeal. Porridge. Fine cheeses. A bagel with lox and a schmear. A falafel. A gyro. Oh, and corn. You couldn’t believe the variety in this dump. “More fucking coffee, you backwards sons of bitches!”

I punched a girlscout in the face with the napkin dispenser when she asked me if I was going to finish my fries. A child. Jesus. No! What in the fuck did she think I was going to do with them? Grab some toothpicks and olives and make little french fry people? Imbecile. I washed down my meal with a bottle of tepid, unfiltered river water fom the Ganges and glowered at the idiots in line for the shitter.

“What are you looking at?!”

Bellowing, I returned my attention to the table. I tore a turkey leg off the dessimated carcass, smeared it in mashed potato and ketchup, swirled it in mayonnaise and salad dressing, dragged it along the tablecloth for texture and started fellating it.

"Ooh-BOCK, ooh-BOCK, ooh-BOCK, ooh-BOCK, ooh-BOCK!!!”

I ripped it apart with greasy fingers. I smeared its juices on my face. I painted myself in meat and condiments.

“I have to shit!”

I tore off my suit jacket and stumbled back into the field then, braying like a retarded asshole swatting at invisible wasps.

POOP PART 1

POOP PART 3