Fatty, Fatty, Fatty!!

I was out with my wicked friend Damien last night. Fuck, he's good times. He's in the top percentile of "idiot" guy friends I have. When I say idiot, I mean it in the best, most flattering way possible.

Attention Disclaimer: Thanking Zontar, the Corpo, when I give this heed in warning: If you work in an office where your online activity is monitored, do NOT open the link in the following paragraph. Save it for home.

He attains this title because of Exhibit A, a URL sent via phone, while you're talking to him just so he can hear the reaction.

All of my really good friends receive, after some time or hilarious circumstance, a nickname. Damien's nickname is Fatty.

It's not that he's particularly fat, but at one time, when we worked together, incidentally how we met, he'd wear those front pleated, and I'm tempted to say "slacks", but I hate that word, dress pants. His ass looked behemoth. These are not flattering pants, gents.

I used to box Fatty's ass.

Cool things about Fatty:
1. He does David Blaine-like amazing card tricks that make me scream and want to hit him; they're so astounding!
2. He grew his own pot up at the family cottage this summer and went back recently to collect it, discovering it had freeze-dried. Apparently it lost some potency... Hmm... unsure about that. I got mighty stoned.
3. He was the one who told me about The Harry Houdini and The Cleavland Steamer.
4. He makes me laugh so hard I can't see.
5. When I asked him why it was called the Harry Houdini, he said, completely high pitched and in hysterics, "Because it's magic!"
6. He made a Lego man costume for Hallowe'en.
7. He squeamishly put a worm on the end of my fishing line for the first fishing experience of my life. I wasn't brave enough. It will more than likely be my last fishing attempt. Though you never know.
8. He's a really great friend.
9. When he phones me he always greets me by saying, "Hey, you dirty bitch!"
10. He made me remember how much I like grocery shopping while high and/or drunk.

Which we did last night.

We have a grocery chain in Canada called Dominion. It's a rather epic name for a place that hocks toilet paper and marinated olives and everything in between. Dominion has, in the last few years, created a 24 hour shopping experience. Handy if you're single with a barren fridge at home, thinking that bulk bin items are a really good idea, and have a tendency towards better, healthier choices. Though last night I had a pull to buy a kilo of candy necklaces, a bunch of broccoli and rapini were thrown in the cart instead. They nearly crushed my cheesies. Roughage!

These stores figure they have to make it worth their while to justify a 24 hour concept, so they throw in large ticket gift items at the end of isles, just in case some poor slob was a bad father this year and forgot young Janie's birthday. You can buy one of those frightening dolls that stand 3' high, eyes opening and closing if dipped while dancing (or being smothered), hair in perfect blonde ringlets, bodies clothed in prudish, matronly, high lacey collared dresses with a small floral print. Bodies as hard and unyielding as the ones that move around in California. All for the low, low price of just $49.95.

After I knocked into, and over, a Mason approved display (Form of: a whole bunch of potatoes. Shape of: a pyramid), Fatty pulled out a hockey stick from another $49.95 bin and lobbed a poor stray, this near perfect food, into the tampon isle. He then body checked me into an 8' display of Vector cereal.

I ran away. Arms flailing.

He stayed to help the poor stockboy clean up.

I pretended to mind my own business in the seasonal display area. "It's too soon for Christmas", is what I kept thinking.

I lost him in aisle 3 at one point and was calling him softly. "Faatttyy.... Faaattttyyyy...". When I turned around I noticed a 400lbs man, I guess a manager, glaring at me while softly spreading in his office chair.

The cashier was unfriendly. Unfriendly cashiers used to bother me, but they don't anymore. She probably has to deal with a lot of drunken assholes at 2:00 in the morning, under harsh fluorescent lighting. She couldn't possibly get friendly mainly because she never met anyone's eyes.

Fatty, Fatty, Fatty!

I love Fatty!