It was a dusky warm night in September, and Ron's scale was registering two hundred and change.
My skinny roommate J and I were off in our own universe, busy finding ways to be efficient and (relatively) healthy in what we ate, whilst simultaneously not knowing a goddamn thing about culinary arts.
"Come, let us cook this four pound brick of ground beef in one sitting, that we may lazily toss it into tacos and spaghet whenever we desire nutrition," J suggested.
"A fine proposal," I agreed.
The screams of our pan searing the lean, red meat tore through the three bedroom apartment, waking the hambeast Ron from his post-raid slumber. Out he waddled, stinking of an odor that would have made the mythical Grendel retreat in disgust.
"Wacha doin?" he asked, pawing at one of the three liter bottles of Dr. Pepper he kept in the fridge.
"We are preparing sustenance for the days to come," J and I responded. We should have known then what was to come, but we were skinny juveniles, naive in our understanding of the fatties.
Minutes later the clock struck midnight and we decided to store the ground beef in an aluminum bowl, with aluminum foil wrapped tightly across the top. We put it into the fridge, and retired to our respective chambers for a full night's sleep.
Some ten hours later I woke from my dreams and exited my room, eager to scarf down a taco most effortless. Ron sat red-eyed at his computer, a mere stone's throw from the fridge.
"Mornin" he said, with a hint of surprise in his voice.
I opened the refrigerator door and began to dig through the three liter bottles of soda, standing like little graves in what was surely the cemetery of Ron's health and wellbeing.
"Where the fuck is it at?" I pondered solemnly.
"Lookin for somethin?" his voice cracked, in sheepish embarrassment.
"Yeah man, the four pounds of ground beef that J and I cooked last night..."
"Oh..."
I rose from my crouched position adjacent to the shelves of the fridge, and looked over at his computer station.
There it sat; the large aluminum bowl, with the tail end of the largest spoon we collectively owned sticking an inch out from the brim.
"...Sorry man, had a raid that went late last night... I ate it..."
My pulse quickened, my fists clenched, the skin under my right eye began to twitch. I paced slowly towards him, to the visible dismay of the grotesquely-scented hambeast. I couldn't take him at his word. I had to see for myself.
I peered into the abyss of the aluminum bowl, and in horror saw the truth; Ron had not only eaten the entire four pounds of ground beef directly out of the bowl with a spoon, but he had poured most of my bottle of ranch into it to help him slug it down. White streaks of the dried condiment held the precious few grams of ground beef against the sides of the bowl.
The beams of sunlight that had lit the room just seconds earlier were swallowed by clouds, just as the four fucking pounds of ground beef were swallowed by the hambeast most foul.
Fin.
Submitted July 08, 2016 at 06:43AM by Razr_Leaf http://ift.tt/29lCpD1 fatpeoplestories
No comments:
Post a Comment