Benjamin Duffy - We Are Fat and We Are Legion

We are Fat
and
We are Legion

by

Benjamin Duffy

Strategic Book Publishing & Rights Co.

E-book Edition 2014

All rights reserved Benjamin Duffy

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, from the publisher.

Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co.

12620 FM 1960, Suite A4-507

Houston, TX 77065

www.sbpra.com

ISBN: 978-1-63135-114-3

All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any character, living or dead is purely co-incidental.

Cover image by the author and is copyright protected

To Ai-Ya, my wife, for showing patience with my passion

Contents

Part One: February 2010

Chapter One:

The Fat Majority

Nutter needs to lose weight. Thats what Dr. Strickland says. Hes the vet.

Nutters too fat, he says. Nutters my dog, a mutt I picked out from the shelter when he was just a puppy. That must have been almost ten years ago now. I named him after my favorite cookiethe rich, tasty Nutter Butter. I thought the color of his mangy coat was similar to that of the worlds most delicious cookie. Over time, Ive noticed that hes started to take on the shape of a Nutter Butter as well.

Dr. Strickland told me that I should start feeding Nutter a special formula of dog food from Eukanuba. He even had a bag of it right there to sell me. Very convenient. Just fifty-two dollars for a thirty pound bag. Taking a look at that bag, I know that Nutter would go through it in about two weeks. Then Id have to lay out another fifty-two bucks.

It seems that Eukanuba and Dr. Strickland are making a killing. The inhuman diet industry has expanded into the dog world. Apparently, it wasnt enough to make millions of women feel like crap, they had to go and make the womens dogs hate themselves too.

I mumble under my breath as I lead Nutter back to the parking lot by his leash. Im cursing Dr. Strickland. If he knew that I was the queen of fat empowerment, I doubt he would have made such fatphobic comments about my dog. I wanted to let the veterinarian have a piece of my mind, but I didnt. In fact, I told him Id consider it. Consider buying his ridiculously over-priced diet dog food, that is. It was a lie. I wasnt considering buying it. I was considering shoving it up his ass.

I open the back door of my Nissan Sentra. Nutter hops in. Well, its more like a flop than a hop. Hes a bit heavy to do much hopping but he tries.

Im in a hurry. Ive got to get this dog back to my house in South Hadley before my radio show starts in a few hours. I also have to grab some dinner. Im pressed for time.

On the way home, I stop at Nicks Nest in Holyoke. Nicks Nest has been around since anyone can remember, a regular landmark in the Paper City. I leave Nutter in the car and go inside. The restaurant is small, a modest enterprise that serves only a few menu itemshot dogs, baked beans, popcorn, and the soup of the day. The hot dogs are spinning on greasy rollers inside a plastic case on the counter.

I order five hot dogs with kraut to go. I dont want the girl at the counter to think that I plan to eat them all by myself. I sense a hint of disapproval cross her face. Skinny bitch. She says nothing but I can sense the waves of fatphobia radiating off of her. She thinks theyre all for me and shes repulsed by it. Shes judging me. This skinny bitch, who probably isnt even old enough to drink yet, is judging me.

I tell myself to calm down. I could be wrong. I dont have ESP and I cant say for sure what shes really thinking. Its possible that my old food-related guilt creeping in again.

In a few minutes, the girl hands me a brown bag full of hot dogs and sauerkraut. The skinny bitch with the quietly judgmental eyes. I snatch it from her hand and get out of there as quickly as possible.

In all truthfulness, I am sharing the hot dogs. Im sharing them with Nutter. Together, we drive just a few yards up the street and park at the Rite Aid drug store. Nutter is nuzzling me behind the ear with his wet nose.

I open the brown sack to the pungent smell of cabbage and vinegar. I gaze in. The hot dogs are small. Pathetic, really. Limp. It occurs to me that they probably resemble Dr. Stricklands penis. I put the thought out of my mind, but not before snickering.

I tear off a gooey piece of frank and bun then offer it to my loyal companion. He chokes it down, leaving his drool on my fingers. I give him another chunk, and then another. Nutter has consumed the first of five hot dogs.

Dr. Strickland will not starve my dog. Nutter will eat delicious, all-beef franks if Nutter damned well pleases. Nutter will eat buns consisting of refined flour and high fructose corn syrup. Nutter will not eat overpriced dog food. Not if I have anything to say about it.

I grab a hot dog for myself and enjoy.

* * *

Im fast approaching the second anniversary of my radio show. I can hardly believe its been two years. My, how time flies when youre having fun. The idea came to me slowly, building itself gradually in chunks. It all came together in June of 2008, I recall.

Gas prices were astronomically high. People were begging for mercy but the oil companies just kept jacking them up. It was Saturday when Denny and I pulled into the Shell station in South Hadley. Denny is my boyfriend of almost five years, an enormous bear of a man with a good heart. He went into the little store to pay for his gas in cash. Dennys so old fashioned. I got out and waited for the cashier to switch the pump on. When I heard a click, I started pumping.

I could tell that something was wrong when Denny came back to the car. He was quiet, his eyes were glazed over, his head was hanging low like a defeated man.

Whatsamatter, Denny?

You really want to know? he asked.

Yeah.

Someone in there just called me a fat slob, he replied. A fat fucking slob, actually.

My jaw dropped open. I cannot understand how people can be so vicious. How old?

I dunno. Sixteen, maybe.

Boy or girl?

Boy.

I released the handle, allowing the pump to come to a thudding halt. Come pump the rest of this gas, Denny. Im going in there.

No! Denny objected. Leave it alone.

Just then, I saw a teenage boy emerge from the store, his hat turned backwards, sipping from a bottle of Mountain Dew. He looked like kind of a smartass, but not mean or dangerous. It had to be him. I couldnt allow him to walk away without having a word with him.

Hey! I shouted. Hey you! Kid!

He took one look at me and flinched. His eyes flashed with fear. I can be very intimidating.

Gabby! Denny barked at me.

I ignored him completely. I approached the kid with the Mountain Dew. He stared at me like a deer in the headlights. I wanna talk to you a second.

The kid turned his back to me and took off in a dead sprint. He flashed out of the gas station and into the supermarket parking lot, dodging in and out between cars. There was no way I was ever going to catch a sprinting teenager and I didnt try.

Gabby, what are you doing?

I just wanted to talk to him, I replied. Apparently, his mother didnt raise him right. I thought it might help him if another adult took him aside and taught him some manners.

Dennys forehead creased. You cant just keep beating up everyone who makes fat jokes. When youre as big as we are, it kind of defines you. People are just going to make rude comments. There are too many assholes in the world to physically assault all of them.