Miserable Existence

If a chair could talk, Mr. Office rolling chair would scream bloody murder right now. And Mr. Chair would also probably call attention to the weight capacity clearly marked on his warning label. You see John Mc Fatty, the mc of course for McDonalds and the fatty to bring attention to the obesity obviously caused by the McDonalds, was two doughnuts and a churro away from exploding human innards all across the office space. John was the sort of guy that made you hug the wall as you passed him in the hall way. The kind of guy that you can’t help but notice in any situation, but no one felt bad for John. Watching him inhale a lunch the size of a large 3rd grader without hesitation had no merits for sympathy. Hell if John ate your lunch out of the work fridge even though it was clearly labeled with your name on it and did so nearly every week, you wouldn’t feel bad for him either.

At the very least you would think a man of Johns “stature” would have some good jokes. A funny fat guy gets cut some slack. It’s more social acceptable to be fat when you are funny. But John, well John couldn’t make you laugh if he fell over and rolled. And everyone knows how funny a fat person falling can be. John was the kind of plain and boring that made a documentary about grass sound interesting. His depression permeated through his body, and out into the air space that surrounded him. Like a depression cloud that could suck the will to live out of anyone who entered it. His dead end job, his loneliness, and not seeing his penis in over 15 years, all shit that adds up and its sum is depressing John. Even his name was boring and depressing.

“Hey john, here are the figures for last month’s budget” Linda’s one sentence gave John the pinnacle of his human interaction for the day. Aside from placing his order at various fast food joints of course. Linda handed the papers off, and just as quickly as she showed up, she was gone. No one spent more time with John than was necessary for work related interactions. John fumbled with the papers, and a sweat started to sweep across his body like a tsunami. Simple tasks such as moving or even breathing where a daunting chore for John, resulting in a massive sweat any time he so much as moved a finger. John began pecking away at his keyboard… slowly. John wasn’t even good at his job. He was hardly capable of producing the bare minimums required by his job. And his finger peck typing method was no help. John wasn’t a fast learner, hell john wasn’t a learner at all. He didn’t learn from his mistakes, he didn’t learn from others, he didn’t even learn from the boring discovery channel documentaries he watched at three in the morning. But John was reaching his breaking point. As he continued his index fingers hunt for the h key he examined his life. Looking back at your sad excuse for a life when you are already depressed is a suicidal combination… Literally.

That was it, the straw that broke the camel’s back. The h key, john’s desperate search for the dam key with the h on it was enough. “Fuck the H key” john stammered as his chin fat jiggled to the tune of his voice. He removed himself from the rolling chair, erecting his massive weight above his legs. Mr. Chair perked up in relief. John penguined his way to the elevator. His chubby finger engulfed the 48th floor button. The elevator began to chug upward, struggling to push the weight of its cargo to the appropriate floor. John stumbled from the elevator to the roof access stairwell. Already exhausted from his journey John’s lungs consumed as much of the air around him as they could. John toed the edge of the roof. Every event in his life culminated to this one moment. His first Twinkie started the ball rolling, and the dam h key was the final push. As he took that fateful step forward into thin air his plunge began. As john fell, faster than your average suicide victim, a smile broke the plane of his face for the first time in years. Tom Petty’s “free fallin” played in his ears. The concrete below was much too thin to break John’s fall. His last moments on earth where his best. They were also quite the spectacle. For a man of John’s size, any other form of suicide would have been more practical. There is just something ridiculous about a 400 pound man plummeting to earth.





The End… Obviously.