Once upon a TV dinner there was a man named Fred McFlutz. This guy was a real piece of work. He would snort his nephew’s Adderall during Christmas in the bathroom and tell everyone to come look at the giant dump he just took even though it was a runny little bird poo.
Fred was a nice guy in his early years, but once his wife Tamisha Pudding divorced him he started to go downhill faster than Lindsey Vonn in the Olympics. I guess it makes sense considering he didn’t really have much going for him besides being a nice guy and being married to Tamisha Pudding.
Nobody understood how he landed such a glorious piece of clam to begin with. They were one of those couples that would walk down the street and other men would look on and audibly wonder “why?” Everyone wanted a taste of that pudding and the guy who was getting it looked like a one-eyed sloth. “I wonder how much money that guy has…” the construction workers would say while their drool pooled on their chests. “I bet he’s got a nine-inch cock and a nine-figure bank account,” said Doug Douganstein, a four-toed construction worker from Calgary.
Doug lost six of his toes in a boating accident.
Every day Fred would walk by and the confusion only garnered further interest in the man. People would concoct wild stories about how Mr. McFlutz had the strongest tongue west of the Nile or how he was the real Most Interesting Man in the World.
In reality, Fred was like most men: menial and bland. There wasn’t anything spectacular about him other than how damn hairy he was. Man does Fred McFlutz have a lot of hair. He never did anything particularly interesting in his life. He could have, but he was too afraid to transfer his dreams into actions. He had potential but he never believed it could be fulfilled. Plus, he thought he already reached the pinnacle of success simply by landing that sweet sweet Tamisha Pudding,
Fred was treading water, and when all you’re doing is treading water you’re really just waiting to drown. He got bossed around by Tamisha because he was too afraid of losing her to develop any backbone or sense of individuality. He spent most of his life trying not to mess up, which is a surefire way to become a stinky piece of cheese.
Fred didn’t have many values or opinions. He just kind of was, and a beautiful woman like Tamisha couldn’t respect a man who just kind of was, so one day she simply up and left. She wrote a nice long letter and left it on the table. It was about four pages long but it could have been boiled down to three words: you bore me.
Having nothing to fall back on, Fred was shattered. His whole purpose had been stripped away from him because he let all meaning be held in the hands of another, which is a big time no-no in the game of life. He was like a box of random game pieces scattered across the floor: chess bishops, red Sorry pieces, a thimble from Monopoly, and a few Chinese Checkers. None of it meant anything at all.
He could have picked a piece and moved towards its given game, but he chose to perceive it all as a lost cause, too far away from anything bound to be worth striving for. Fred’s been switching between lost pieces for years now, and he’s tried to break them all. He could take the prettiest part of each of them to create something new and go from there but he doesn’t have any sense of direction to begin such a task, so he takes it all out on others.
He tells people everything that’s wrong with them and never gives a compliment. He’s about as fat as a walrus who ate a whale, he snarls at anything positive, and he wouldn’t have anywhere to go if his mother wasn’t enabling him.
Anyways, nobody really knows how to get across to the guy. I guess it’s a lesson in momentum. If things are going okay or even well, it’s probably a good idea to make them better. Fred never pushed the limits on anything. He always took the easy way out and it worked for a while. But now he’s calling in the kids to look at his pathetic little bird poops, and “that’s just Fred,” they say.
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