“No I won’t date you. You are way too short for me.”
This was the first thing that Kate said to Sam that was slightly intelligible. She said it as she was walking her plump frame out of the bar. This was an odd thing to say to Sam since all Sam said was, “Have a nice weekend.”
I don’t know why what Plump Kate said to Sam bothered him so. Sam I don’t think was even sure of this. But it was evident that his five-foot-seven, three hundred pound body wasn’t good enough for a short, stalky somewhat attractive girl in her early twenties.
That whole weekend, Sam didn’t leave his apartment, unless of course, Sam went out for some shitty Mexican take-out after 10:30 when the pizza place stops delivering. Sam sat on his dirty couch in these old dingy black elastic shorts that his mother got him one year for Christmas that she had bought him at a fat guys store when she noticed that the clothes that he wore from the regular stores didn’t fit him anymore. The shorts also had this gigantic hole in the crotch of them the size of an adolescent opossum. This was embarrassing for Sam because he hadn’t worn underpants since the end of his sophomore year in high school when he didn’t have to ever take another physical education class, ever again. It did though make for good, easy access masturbation. The only reason why this was odd right now, is whenever he spit on his hand and tried through pain to start stoking his penis, or threw a sock in between the couch cushions, or slid his wet cock along the shower wall, all he could think about was Plump Kate.
The next week, when Plump Kate showed up at the bar, Sam started noticing things about her. First he noticed that she had a beautiful mouth. Nice full lips and a perfect smile (the teeth had been paid for by her father when she was a teen. If I showed Sam a pic of her grill before braces, this chapter would be over now). Even though she had a beautiful mouth, Sam didn’t like all of the ugly, horrible shit that came out of it.
Plump Kate’s hair, Sam noticed, had been cut and layered since their last encounter. This made her hair frame her face nicely. It made it look thinner. Her eyes though, the way they looked when she smiled or laughed, that is what made Sam start to fall in love with Plump Kate.
Sam asked if she wanted to go get diner/breakfast when the bar closed. She agreed. They went to that shitty Mexican place and talked.
“Just so you know,” Sam began, “I didn’t ask you out last week.”
“Last week,” Sam paused, “Last week I said “have a nice weekend” that’s what I said.”
“I still don’t have any idea what you are talking about. Do you want some tacos or something? You’re totally creeping me out.”
“No, no. I mean yes to the tacos but,” His 300 pound frame and the smell of quesadillas under a bright lamp was making his fat body perspire. “I mean, when you were leaving I said, “Have a nice weekend” and you said, “No I won’t date you. You’re too short.” Do you remember that? Last Friday? When you were leaving?”
“Oh. That. I’m sorry Hun. But, you are too short. Did that hurt your feelings?” The tone she used was almost condescending.
“No it’s not that”, Sam replied with nervous bitterness, “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t asking you out. I mean, you’re not even my type.”
Plump Kate stopped shoveling tacos down her throat for a moment and looked Sam up and down. “Well, what is your type?”
“I’m not sure I guess. But, you ain’t it, that’s for sure.” Plump Kate smiles. “I bet you don’t even have a type. A big, hairy and grizzly guy like you Sam, I bet you would shove your cock in the mouth of any chick that’ll leave her mouth open long enough for you to undo your pants.”
Sam was speechless. He had no words to say. So he stood up and yelled a word that made him feel strong to yell. “Cunt!” It echoed through the little Mexican joint, disturbing the cooks while they were spitting into the bean vat.
Sam stormed out feeling like a champion and a chump all at the same time. Plump Kate meanwhile shoved the rest of her burrito into her mouth and chased after him trying to yell his name with her mouth full. When she caught up to him, she was laughing and sucking the grease off of her Vienna sausage-like fingers.
“Sam!” she yelled. “You got a girlfriend?”
Sam made sure that he got close to her so that she wouldn’t yell anymore. He was embarrassed of the scene that she was making in front of the large audience of zero.
“No. No I don’t have a girlfriend and keep your voice down.” Sam’s interest was now peeked and thought he had a nice lead in. “And you? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. I’m fucking this guy right now but he’s getting way too serious so I’m out of that scene.”
“Well,” Sam said nervously, “what are your plans for the rest of the night/morning?”
“You just mean morning,” She said sarcastically. “I’m gonna go break it off with that guy and if you give me your number, I’ll call you afterwords.”
So Sam eagerly scribbled his phone number on a matchbook. There was only one match left in the book so they shared it to light them each a cigarette. They stood there quietly and smoked, got into the cars and drove their separate ways.
Sam waited for her call for three days before he said “Fuck this shit!”
“There’s our guy,” Napoleon said.
He gestured over to a guy that looked almost exactly like Christopher Lambert. The man was draped in a dark gray duster.
“That looks like Christopher Lambert,” he said.
The man got spooked when he noticed the two of them staring at him. He ran.
“This too, is going in MY report!” Napoleon boasted as they ran after the man that looked like Christopher Lambert. They turned corner after corner and corridor after corridor. The clacking of the man’s boots echoed through the vacant hallways. Then they heard nothing at all.
They entered a lobby type room that had an information desk. At the desk sat a hideously ugly, obese woman about the height of a tall child. She had a tight perm that made her head look like a brown condom perched upon the head of a penis.
“Did you see a man in a gray trench coat come running by?”
“No. Why no I haven’t.” As she spoke, the growths on her face pulsated and jumped all over her pudgy completion. “Let me ask my sister. Helga!” she yelled.
Out from an adjacent door came a freak of nature that will haunt all of us the rest of our days. Helga was an identical twin to the midget behemoth behind the counter down to every growth, every follicle of facial hair. They even have the same tight perm. The chances that two of the world’s most ungodly looking beasts came from the same gene strand only makes me wonder what their parents look like, he thought.
“What was that?” Helga said.
“What was what?”
“You said something.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did. Something about “Parents”.”
“No I didn’t.”
“I do believe you did.”
For safety purposes, Napoleon decided to take the two monsters with us to the “safe” room. In this room we have surveillance for the whole building.
“We lost him on our cameras once he entered the lobby,” said a wormy rat boy with bottle top goggles.
Napoleon tries to jog the hag twins’ memory. “Now you are sure that you didn’t see anyone come in the lobby? Are you sure that you didn’t see this man?” He showed them a picture of Christopher Lambert.
A shot rings out. Both fatties fall to the ground. Helga dissolves into nothing and her sister lay dead with a warm bullet resting in her brain. Napoleon looks shocked to see who is holding the smoking gun.