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If forced to admit it, Fatman would have to say that he actually did have many a fond memory of growing up with Kraft Macaroni and Cheese on the dinner table. For Fatman, there was no greater reward than having a heaping bowl of rich yummy cheesy goodness piled high and steaming hot with lots of salt and pepper on top. Plain or with little cut up hunks of hot dog or ground hamburger inside (insert salivation), Mac’n’Cheese was simply the best! Even better than se….
…no…correct that that….
…it was just damn good!
In a lot of ways, Macaroni and Cheese epitomized everything that was good about childhood. Mac’n’Cheese had always been a great big comfort food that seemed to make anything in life better. Fatman had figured for all these years that his parents must have REALLY loved him to feed it to him so often and never once did it cross Fatman’s mind that maybe the entire reason his family had Kraft Macaroni and Cheese so often was because they were poor and people gave that stuff away to food banks by the truckload.
Hmm…now that he thought about it, no wonder the other family favorite was a plain bowl of warm elbow noodles in butter with salt and pepper on top. Come to think of it, despite how awesome it was, they only added hamburger to Mac and Cheese on very special occasions that just so happened to conveniently coincide with half price specials on week-old hamburger meat at the local grocery store. Huh…he’d never made the connection before.
Hey wait! DAMN IT MAN! FATMAN WAS POOR AS A KID!!!!! What the hell just happened to his childhood?
Fatman’s shock and horror however paled in comparison to the moment he realized just how bad Macaroni and Cheese REALLY was for you. It is so bad apparently that even homeless people refuse to eat it!
As Fatman listened in stunned silence to his friend Cupcake as she related a story to him from a recent trip to the big city, his mind raced. She had taken her young son Mini Cakes to someplace called Mac Daddy’s or some crazy shit like that. Fatman literally salivated when she’d posted a picture on Facebook of a bowl of mac and cheese with a fried egg on top. That was sheer GENIUS!!!!
Shockingly however, her young son was not impressed with the gourmet style Macaroni and Cheese served at this fine establishment and refused to eat it. And so, reluctantly, Cupcake boxed up the left-over dinner to go (because that stuff is like cheesy gold) and left the restaurant in short order. Outside however, she was unexpectedly approached by a homeless woman begging for money.
Still holding a fresh warm container full of steamy fresh cheesy goodness, Cupcake sweetly offered a gesture of goodwill. “No, I don’t have any money,” she smiled sweetly, “But you can have my Macaroni and Cheese!”
The old homeless woman stared at Cupcake incredulously as she hissed through missing teeth, “Um…don’t you have any money?”
“No,” Cupcake repeated, “But I have really yummy warm Macaroni and Cheese!”
The old woman seemed confused, “Uh…I just want to buy something from the store around the corner.” Clearly she was looking for something more nutritious like some lean, skinless, boneless chicken breast to take back to camp and cook over the trashcan.
“So you don’t want my Mac and Cheese?” Cupcake asked again.
The old woman seemed insulted, “No thanks. I just want money.”
And so there you have it! Even homeless people who don’t know where their next warm meal is going to come from will simply refuse to eat even freshly baked gourmet Macaroni and Cheese because they know how bad it is for you. No wonder they stay so thin. What conviction! What willpower!
A tear welled up in Fatman’s eye as he considered for a moment the lessons of the little old woman on the street…
…and also perhaps from the sudden realization that his mother apparently most not have loved him after all to feed something that people just give away and that even the homeless know better than to eat.
[Don’t forget this blog has moved to www.fatman.info and Fatman will soon stop posting to this address.]
For many torturous hours Fatman struggled mightily with the biggest decision he had yet to make to date. No, it wasn’t whether or not to actually eat that second Quarter Pounder Spicy Big Bite from 7-11 that he’d already purchased with his hard earned money long before discovering that it would add an estimated 15 additional points over his daily allotted Weight Watchers food budget for the day. THAT decision was relatively easy by comparison. The decision that was DIFFICULT to make however, was whether or not to relocate the fatcave (aka this blog site) to a new url.
Wordress was a great blogging tool that Fatman had grown to love over the years, but the free site hosted by wordpress.com did have some limitations. By registering a paid domain, Fatman could make himself both easier to find for new subscribers and at the same time could also greatly increase to tools available at his disposal to make things better for the old subscribers. But the move would come at a cost and that cost was in the neighborhood of eighteen lost souls.
Eighteen brave subscribers to Fatman’s old blog stood to get lost in the transfer. Eighteen innocent, well meaning, and quite treasured wordress.com followers that could not easily be ported over to the new website address, not even by hand. Those poor eighteen souls would have to find the new site on their own, forced to click on a link located here, and then re-subscribe to the new blog at www.fatman.info.
This is the internet for God’s sake! People don’t have that sort of attention span and commitment! At most Fatman had twenty, maybe thirty seconds to get someone’s attention and maybe get them to press a “like” button. Most likely those eighteen poor souls had simply clicked a “follow” button weeks ago, not even entirely sure what they were doing, and purely on a whim. Could they really be expected to do it again?
Fatman prayed that they would.
Fatman’s pudgy little fingers trembled in fear as he made the leap and pressed submit. The domain www.fatman.info had been purchased and was now live. The postings from this, now OLD blog site, had successfully been ported over to the new and was now living happily amid what would surely be many more to come.
But what of those poor eighteen lost friends that Fatman left behind? Some of Fatman’s favorite readers were suddenly at risk of being abandoned, never heard from again, discarded like so much trash along the littered highway of suburban America…
…ok, maybe that’s a bit over dramatic, but Fatman really did hope they would come to the new site and re-subscribe.
Fatman had only one thing left to do now. Wait. Wait and watch to see if his old friends returned. He would return to the old blog here for a while, checking to see if anyone was left crying out for help. For those he would hold their hand and lead them to the new fatcave located at www.fatman.info.
But did Fatman provide them enough links to get there without him?
It doesn’t always suck to be alone Fatman now reazlied. In fact, some things are actually better when done alone. Take for example pretty much anything involving toilets. Those things are almost uniformly better when used alone. Spanish geriatric midget porn is yet another shining example of things better done (or seen) alone. You might also add to that list watching any 1980’s re-runs of Punky Bruster or say BJ and the Bear. Yet again, those things are better done alone. And sometimes, like Saturday morning, walking a mountain might just be better done alone.
Fatman suppressed the fear of having a heart attack while out alone on the side of a mountain by reminding himself that even if he WERE with someone who could dial 911 for him, no EMT was going to climb that mountain anywhere near enough in time to do anything about it anyway.
Hmm, somehow that was a lot more comforting at the time than it sounded now.
Fatman distracted himself on the mountain excursion by playing a good audible book from his smartphone…just a little something motivational to help remind him that he was indeed working on improving himself. The narrator’s voice was less than engaging but his premise was solid and Fatman found a dozen things to make note of for when (and if) he made it back alive.
And then, before he knew it, Fatman was at the top of the mountain and he hadn’t even stopped once to catch his breath!
Maybe it was the turtle’s pace that the walk started on or the fact that for once Fatman didn’t feel internally pressured in the slightest to keep up or pretend that he was doing “ok” at the pace set by others. Maybe it was the audio book numbing his mind to the thought of endlessly trudging foot after foot up the hill with seemingly no end in sight. But for whatever the reason, Fatman had made the climb, alone, without stopping and he felt great. No one was there to complain about his pace. No one was there to comment snidely about how they will have to return later without him so they can do it as a pace that’s more challenging. No one was there to gloat smugly about how they haven’t even broken a sweat yet or to ask Fatman if he’s “ok” or if he’d like them to ask the 90 year old lady standing next to them if he could take a pull off of her oxygen tank. In other words, Fatman actually still had his pride intact!
It was a good day!
There are times in a man’s life when he is forced to swallow a huge lump of pride and admit his shortcomings. For Fatman, the past 24 hours was one of those times.
It had started earlier in the week when Fatman eagerly accepted an invitation to play disc golf followed by a friendly game of basketball over at a new friend’s house. Despite not having any particular skills at ball handling outside his own private office, Fatman was apt to give it the old Harvard try. Two minutes into it however and it was painfully obvious that Fatman wasn’t cut out for dribbling anything other than maybe saliva from his own chin.
After the fourth “brick” went up missing the backboard completely, next came the now infamous “I’m going to slap my ball in your face” shot-block by his well meaning friend PudgeMeister. As the ball unceremoniously ripped out of Fatman’s hand and sailed with precision towards the five year old pouting child sitting courtside, Fatman concluded it was best just to sit this game out and let the “real men” play.
The five year old was up next and out shot him.
PudgeMiester and Fatman later concluded after a long talk in the past 24 hours that maybe it was best if they just didn’t exercise together anymore. PudgeMiester couldn’t get a workout playing down to Fatman’s level and Fatman couldn’t handle the constant reminder of his inadequacies.
Then, just last night it was hours before facing the Scales of Accountability and Fatman humbly requested a different friend of his join him on walking up the mountain with him for his last chance workout.
“I’m sorry man, I’m going to have to pass,” his friend said. “I’ve got this foot issue and it actually hurts for me to walk that slow. I’m not trying to race you or anything, but I just can’t go that slow.”
Fatman pulled out a dirty kitty litter scoop and scraped what remained of his pride up off the pavement.
“No problem,” Fatman smiled. “I obviously have to walk alone.”
And then this morning the coup de grace came when Fatman encountered the Scales of Accountability once again and found he had only lost a modest 2.2 lbs (one pound short of his needed goal). Fatman might have felt good about 2.2 lbs on any other week. He might have taken pride in 20.6 total pounds of weight loss in the past four weeks. Instead, all Fatman could feel today was shame and he was literally wearing it on his sleeve.
Per the weight loss competition rules on this site, Fatman had lost the battle to non other than PudgeMiester himself. For one week now, Fatman must wear his symbol of guilt and shame, head hung low, and walking the mountain….
Fatman stared at the picture before him for what was far too long of a moment trying to decide how he felt about the whole thing. At first glance it was immediately recognizable as a half naked woman laying by the poolside giving it a great start. However, while admittedly a flattering picture in some regards, the glaring pale white skin practically glowed from the Galaxy Note high resolution screen causing Fatman to shield his eyes from the reflection of the sun.
There was a text message accompanying the photo, “Hey look, I’m feeling skinny today and chillin’ by the pool,” it said. The picture and message was from his good friend Cupcake. The next message however just kept ruining any chance Fatman had of seeing Cupcake in the light she surely wanted to see herself in that day. “Oh, hey, I think I got a sunburn on my fat roll!”
Ok, so things not to do when you’re drunk. That’s all that Fatman kept thinking to himself.
Don’t text half naked photos of yourself to your friends when drunk.
Fatman half thought about scribbling that in permanent marker on his forehead anytime he picked up a beer so if he ever felt the need to take a selfie in a half drunken state he’d look up at his face on camera and say, “Oh, yeah THAT’S right!” and put the phone away.
Fatman had to wonder to himself how many embarrassing things he’d done in a drunken state. It wasn’t that he drank a lot. In fact, Fatman hardly ever touched alcohol except socially and once or twice to dull his misery. In those few times he can recall being really drunk however, some painful memories began to resurface. Laying naked on a bakers table in front of a full plate glass window on his 21st birthday had to be at the top of the list of things he regretted. Running (with both legs) after a car screaming “you broke my leg” at 2 in the morning was probably a close second. Of course there was the bowling league night after breaking up with one of his ex-girlfriends where he forgot to let go of the ball and ended up halfway down the lane rolling on his back in oil while the entire league laughed at him. Hmmm..no, THAT was second.
Fatman decided that Cupcakes’ offense wasn’t so bad after all and simply responded, “Looking good!”.
Hitting send, Fatman decided that carrying a permanent marker with him to social drinking events might not be a horrible idea.
Despite what some may be thinking from the title of this blog entry, Fatman neither got ambushed by a quintuplet of highly trained ninja assassins (though he could probably take those on). Neither however did Fatman win a staring role in a horribly bad adult film (not going to take that on). Rather, the “Five Guys” Fatman braved on a lovely Saturday morning was none other than the “fast-food” chain known as “Five Guys Burgers and Fries”, a burger place so wonderful that other fat people made videos about their food and sang their praises on the internet such as the one in this video on YouTube known simply as “Oh my DAYUM!”
The morning had started with an excruciating hike up the side of a mountain which, now that Fatman thought about it, would have admittedly made a fight with a quintuplet of ninja assassins a little more challenging. Once the pain and nausea subsided however, Fatman decided to check out the infamous Five Guys coke machine he had heard so much about. It was a coke machine that allegedly allowed customers to mix in their own flavorings to various coke products.
Orange Coke Zero? Vanilla Diet Barques Root Beer? Grape Diet Sprite?
It sounded like heaven and Fatman imagined that fat little cherubs would likely be strumming their little harps as they ushered him in to fat-food mecca.
Fatman’s first impression of Five Guys however started in the parking lot where a very wide female waddled from side to side right down the center lane of through traffic blocking three or more cars as she nonchalantly smoked on her cigarette carrying a grocery bag full of food items as if she was terrified she might be caught in the barren asphalt wasteland known as the Wal-Mart Parking lot without food nearby. She was wearing (or rather attempting to wear) a fire engine red t-shirt with white lettering on the back that read “Five Guys Burger and Fries”. Fatman now had to conclude that employees of Five Guys Burgers and Fries must have one hell of an employee discount program.
Despite the banner hanging in the window stating the hours of operation began at 11am, the door was wide open and the “Open” sign was clearly displayed above the door. It was 10:52 am.
Fatman and his unnamed side kick entered the establishments with high expectations and a pleasant, positive attitude. It only took a few mere seconds for the dreams to be crushed like a child being told for the first time that Santa Clause wasn’t real.
The entire staff, at least five individuals, stopped dead in their tracks from their labors and stared at Fatman and his friend as they entered. It was as if aliens from Planet X had just appeared out of nowhere and asked them to take them to their leader. When the shock and horror wore off, one female staff member rudely announced, “I”m sorry gentleman, we aren’t open!”
Fatman made a noble attempt to reason with who was surely a candidate for employee of the year and said, “Even if all I want is a soda? I’m not getting any food.”
“What???” Answered a particularly portly man standing behind a register.
Fatman repeated himself again, this time very slowly so that everyone could understand. “I….just….want…a…so….da…. Would that possible, or should I just wait for five minutes?”
The exceptionally obese man behind the register seemed annoyed and unable for the moment to decide what to do. It became apparent to Fatman in short order that this was the manager and it was his call. The staff of slightly less obese employees continued orbiting around him behind the counter as if seemingly sucked into his own personal gravitational pull. They glanced toward the front of the store from time to time curious how their manger would deal with such a challenging question.
“Are you going to use cash or credit?” the manager asked with irritation in his voice.
“Whatever’s easiest for you, I have both.”
Reluctantly the obtuse manager swiped the card, handed Fatman a cup, and off he went.
The orange Coke was not half as thrilling as he’d imagined it would be. As Fatman left the establishment, he felt the glaring eyes of five completely dismayed employees watching him. It was 10:58. Behind him, Fatman heard another customer approach the counter.
“Sorry sir, we’re not open!”
Fatman decided then that this would be his last Fat Guys Burger and Fries adventure.