Awesome…
Filed under Rant Alert
Don’t Be a Foo!

Mark works for UPS as a part time supervisor and it’s a really hectic job. They’ve got about 50 different things they’re supposed to be juggling at any given time, and if they mess any of it up it could potentially mean disaster for the entire sort. What we both found funny is out of all the chaos that’s going on around him that he’s trying to manage, the higher up’s seem to be more concerned about which bathrooms employees are using and how much time they’re taking than they are about the important things- like making sure packages are getting where they’re supposed to go. So in addition to being a supervisor, he’s apparently supposed to be the BM Police as well. So, that reminded us of those old commercials Mr. T used to do back in the 80’s when the A Team (He played B.A. Baracus) was really popular, where he’d tell kids “Don’t be a foo, say no to drugs!” So we took it one step further. B.M. Baracus says “Don’t be a foo, dookie off da clock!”
I told Mark the next time his manager is wasting his time about this kind of stupid crap when he’s more worried about important things, he should respond the way Mr. T did in the WoW commercial. “Maybe the man had Taco Bell fo lunch. Maybe B.M. has more productive things to do than to monitor the dookie making habits of other grown adults. You ever think of that Mr. Condescending Manager?”
Filed under Rant Alert
A Few Things About the Site
Hey everyone. Thanks again for coming by and giving everything a look. I really appreciate the response and feedback I’ve been getting so far. Here’s a few tips that might make things a little easier on you.
There’s a little drop down menu to the right where you can find things by categories. Also, if you click on the title of a post it’ll take you to it’s own page with the post centered, which makes it a bit easier to read. If it’s the first chapter of a series it’ll also link to the next chapter so you just have to click instead of scrolling or repeating the process. Hope you all enjoy!
Filed under Rant Alert
Welcome to the new site!
Welcome to our new site! I know it’s not much but it’s the best I could do with my budget of $0. I’ve already got the first chapter of Down With the Thickness posted and the first 4 sample chapters of our novel The Chosen: Rebirthing for you to try out. If you don’t feel like scrolling down you can use the handy “Categories” drop down menu to the right to get places faster.
My goal is to have a new chapter of Thickness posted once a week. I’ll also be posting a few short stories and random stuff periodically, along with my own blogtastic rants about whatever happens to come to me at the time. I’m going to do my best to update here regularly, so make sure to check back often. Feel free to comment and we hope you enjoy!
Filed under Rant Alert
The Chosen: Rebirthing- Chapter 1
Chapter 1: When It Rains…
– Jude –
My palms were pressed together, cold and clammy from the mist that enshrouded me. Moisture clung to my bare scalp, beading into droplets that trickled down the back of my neck. The chill of the morning reached up through the earth and clawed at knees too old to do much else but ache. I wanted to shut it all out. I wanted to find an inner peace and make the connection. I wanted to clear away all the emotion, so that this time He would hear me. It was the reason I came here.
But I felt like an imposter. Trying not to be angry, or bitter, or even resentful at this point was like trying to stop the earth from spinning. Pretending I wasn’t every one of these hateful things only intensified all the negative impulses churning inside me. I wanted to yell at Him, rebuke Him for putting me through this. He knew it too – it’s what He does.
Does this make you happy?
I was shaking – slighted, cast-off, and then quite abruptly… not alone.
I sensed his presence before I saw Him, which is how it usually worked. That single moment of perfect stillness before the rain comes.
It had rained a lot this year.
I didn’t bother to turn around. “Let’s just get this over with. I got shit to do today.” I sighed and shook my head as I climbed from where I was kneeling at the headstone.
He chuckled, the deep baritone rolling through the empty churchyard like distant thunder. “Such hubris from one who is about to die! May it be your epitaph: ‘Here Lies Jude – he had shit to do today.’ Most of the humans I’ve slain had enough sense to save their final words for a more fitting plea.”
“Yeah, well, we both know I’m not most humans.” I turned to face my would-be assassin and, despite my earlier bravado, I must admit I was slightly taken aback.
When most folks picture a demon, they tend to think of some hideous thing that makes you want to lose control of your bodily fluids, or perhaps a shadowy form that stalks and torments you in the night. Sometimes they do appear as such; but more often than not, evil is more deceptive than we care to admit. The really scary demons are every bit as beautiful as people imagine angels to be – they are angels, fallen angels, cast out by their Master centuries ago, but angels nonetheless.
This particular specimen standing before me was no exception. His physique was that of a Greek god, resplendent in white robes. All around him the air crackled and his skin shone with a brilliant yellow hue that made me want to shield my eyes from the glare. Here was an idealized warrior-angel, appearing as though he’d just emerged from a sixteenth-century fresco and brought with him a hateful malice millennia older than that. Rancor radiated from him in waves, pulsating through the graveyard in my direction, battering me with invisible blows. Staring into the crimson crescents of his eyes, I suddenly found a long-dormant part of myself wishing it had been one of those hideous, shadowy demons. A small nugget of fear gripped my gut as I beheld one of the Enemy’s top assassins.
This was The Executioner.
I snorted. “Alastor. Your boss must be gettin’ nervous if he sent someone like you after me.”
His feral grin was anything but warm as he drew his sword, its white blade singing as it parted from the scabbard at his side. I noted with a degree of satisfaction that he set his feet securely before casually waving his weapon towards the nearby chapel. He was expecting a fight.
“No one sent me. Only lost little sheep like you need a shepherd.” His grin became a smirk. “I guess Father never told you – you stray from the flock and you’ll welcome the wolves. Or maybe you’re just a poor instrument he’s cut from the fold.”
He was getting a fight.
I pasted on a smug smile and concentrated for a brief moment, begrudgingly allowing that familiar warmth of presence to flow over me. Like a hot drink on a cold day, I could feel it ooze down through my being. It spread down through my fingertips and, as it did, I felt my own fiery sword spring to life in my right hand. “If it ain’t the wolf callin’ the sheep black…”
He snarled and lunged. His body was a blur as he moved at what I could only call the ‘speed of thought’. If I were a normal man, his sword would have pinned my carcass to the turf before my eyes could even register the movement. Instead I snapped my blade up in time to knock aside his strike, our swords exploding in a shower of light as they collided. I went with the momentum of the swing, spinning around and backhanding him across the cheek. The impact echoed like a thunderclap and Alastor tumbled end over end, landing in a heap ten meters away.
He slowly got to his feet and massaged his jaw. “Very good. I was afraid that this would be ea–” His monologue halted with an unexpected click as my heel collided squarely with his jaw and sent him crashing through a granite rendering of an angel.
My sword flared and I beckoned him on. “For someone they call ‘The Executioner’, I’m not impressed.”
Ashamed of my initial fear, I chided him for not being able to kill me today. Even if life was the bitter pill I’d grown tired of swallowing, I knew on some level that taking the easy way out wasn’t the solution I was waiting for. Alastor can’t kill me, so I can’t die yet.
Bad for me…worse for him.
Circling cautiously, his blade always between us, I could feel him mentally revising his strategy, testing the possibilities of different cuts and thrusts. He had underestimated me before and likely thought to make sure he would not again.
But caution wouldn’t save him. He came in with a strike at my left, but instead of blocking it, I jumped and the sword swept underneath me. Kicking out, I caught him once again in the jaw, knocking him on his back and jarring the ivory weapon from his grip. As his hand desperately searched for the hilt I claimed it at the wrist; the charred scent of cauterized flesh filled my nostrils. His mouth was moving now – spitting invective or begging for mercy, I really couldn’t tell which with my boot planted firmly on his throat. He squirmed for a few futile moments as the flames from my sword licked at his flesh. I rolled my wrist, dropped to one knee as my sword plunged into his chest.
In an instant the fire from my blade engulfed his entire body. He convulsed in agony as a black chasm opened to suck him into the Void, the great emptiness where fallen spirits are sent until the day of final judgment. His screams faded as the portal closed, and I simply stared at the space where the vacuum had been. I sighed, realizing that I was once again alone in the churchyard as though the entire thing had never taken place.
No, not alone.
When it rains, it pours.
“Was that really necessary? Your speed and efficiency in dispatching one of the Enemy’s better assassins speaks well of your skill, certainly, but wrath is a deadly sin, boy.”
“Not for me, apparently.” I was already scowling as I glanced out of the corner of my eye to acknowledge the man emerging from the morning mist. He wore robes of white with golden sandals, but not the glowing kind like those of angels. This was no angel – this was another breed of hideous demon.
I stood and my sword disappeared in a puff of smoke, as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on it and quenched the flame – which wasn’t too far from the truth. “Spare me the sermon, Enoch. He came after me, not the other way around. If Father didn’t approve He wouldn’t have supplied the juice.” He opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off by stabbing at the center of his chest with my right index finger. “And don’t try and twist self-defense into some sort of altruistic rebirth for me. It wasn’t my choice to fight this one… or the dozen before that.”
The man nodded as he ran his right hand over his white bearded jaw, but his brow remained furrowed dubiously. There was always something condescending about him that made me feel childish and small. I guess, compared to him, I was. “Yes, I am sure. You’ve made your desires perfectly clear, which is why I’m here.”
“Oh really?” I didn’t try to hide the surprise on my face as I sank down onto the old stone bench next to me, a little more drained than I’d expected. “I didn’t think He was listenin’ to me anymore.”
“You know better than that.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I did, once. So, you here to take me home, then? I’m not much good to Him here anymore.” I nodded towards where Alastor had fallen moments before. “It’s been two hundred years of putting up with crap like that. I think I’ve earned my pension.”
Enoch shook his head. He must’ve read the annoyance in my expression because the muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched beneath his beard. “I am not here to take you home. At least, not yet.” He held up a hand and my protest died on my lips. I exhaled heavily through my nose, but remained silent. “He is well aware of your… present state, Jude, and whether you believe it or not, He does sympathize with you. He wants you to come home, as He does all of His children, but there are concerns greater than your own that must be attended. You will be granted your retreat, but first, you must prepare your replacement.”
“What?”
Enoch nodded gravely. “His name is Paul. He is ready. He has grown strong and has already begun to question things, which is good. Given your current feelings on the subject, you will be able to relate to him the best.”
I laughed openly – and then twice as hard when I saw his confused expression. “That’s funny. I figured that given my ‘current feelings’ I would be the worst person for the job. I’m just as liable to scare him off.”
Enoch smiled – that self-righteous, knowing smile that always made me want to deck him. “It is the Lord’s will that you be the one to train him.” He shrugged. “Despite your current state, I’m sure that He has His reasons.”
“Heh, no doubt.” I waved absently. “Well, ‘the Lord’s will be done’ and all that.” I rose from the cold stone and glanced around the dank churchyard. “Anything, if it’ll get me out of this hellhole once and for all.”
Enoch’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “I’m glad to see that you have such a positive attitude. However, there is more you should know.” His tone hardened again. “There is evidence that the demon who came here for you this morning was actually part of a contingent whose mission was to find your successor before you did.”
I felt my insides freeze and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Hunts for Potentials were not unheard of, but hardly standard operating procedure for the demon hordes. I may have thought Alastor was a chump, but against a Potential he would’ve been overkill. If he was only one of a group, though…
Enoch nodded as though he’d read my expression. “Luckily, the fool you banished to the Void this morning was lured by the bigger target. His compatriots have been linked by the Faithful to a cult operating outside of the city. Find them… before they find Paul.” His eyes went wide for a moment and he seemed to look at something in the distance that I couldn’t see, then looked back at me. He was always doing that, which annoyed me even more than his damn smile. “You’d best be going. It looks as though your new pupil may need your help very soon.”
– Paul –
“I’m going to kill him.”
I was trying unsuccessfully to get my tie even, but the smaller part kept ending up longer and sticking out from the back.
Mary laughed and turned me toward her. “Here, let me.” She undid the tie and started over fresh, glancing up to meet my eyes as she did so. “And you know you shouldn’t be talking that way, Paul. He is the Pastor, and you did agree to serve under him when you came here. Besides, you were miserable before he swooped in and gave you this opportunity.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. But that’s just it. It’s not like I had much of a choice. I felt like God was telling me something, pushing me to come here and serve under him, so I did. What was I going to say? ‘But God, this idiot is paddling in circles while I – a genius, mind you – am wasting my skills’? I know I’m capable of so much more, but He tells me not to rely on my past accomplishments with the Pastor…” I sighed and realized I was starting to rant, so I shrugged my shoulders. “So this is where He wants me to be? I’m stuck as this under-qualified jerk’s lackey, and I don’t know why.”
“I know why.” She made a show of rubbing her stomach and I felt some of the fight bleed out of me.
“I think that God felt it was time you started acting like a big boy. You are going to be a daddy soon and I don’t think I have the energy to baby-sit two kids.” I made a face and Mary gave me one of those knowing smiles that always bugged me. She tightened the tie a notch below excruciating before patting me on the chest. “But seriously, honey, maybe God just guided you here to humble you.”
“Gee, thanks.” I turned away, went to the sink, and started battling with my unruly black hair. The brush kept getting tangled and the frustration from that found a perfect mate in the sarcasm of my voice. “I appreciate the support, darling.”
Mary followed and wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. “Honey, all I’m saying is you’re such a talented person and, because things have come so easy for you, especially in your ministry work, maybe you’ve been coasting on your own steam. You got your first degree at what – like, ten, for crying out loud?”
“Actually, it was sixteen.”
“Well, soor-rryy Doogie. My point is that you’ve accomplished so much already that maybe the only way God can teach you some of the things He needs you to learn is to put you in a place where He can break you. Maybe God wants more of you than you want for yourself.”
I put down the brush and turned, taking Mary up in my arms. I smiled down at her and kissed her fully on the lips. As I ran my hands through her blonde hair, I relished the smooth sensation between my fingers and I felt all the tension in my soul subside. I kept my forehead pressed against hers and whispered, “Maybe you’re right.”
She bit her lower lip, then returned my smile with a dazzling grin that sent a jolt through me from head to toe. I could only pray that God blessed our child with her looks and good sense. “That’s what I’m here for, honey. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but you’ve got to have faith. I have a feeling that something big is about to happen, and God is going to do something great for all our lives.”
The Chosen: Rebirthing Part One- Available in paperback and for Amazon Kindle
© 2009-2012 J.R. Broadwater & Mark Ruelius
Filed under Novels, The Chosen: Rebirthing
Down With the Thickness Chapter 1
Chapter 1: No Friend to the Fat Man
Threat Assessment
I’m fat. Sumo fat. Kool-Aid Guy fat.
Oh yeah!
I’ve always been a big guy. Even as a little kid I was “thick” and that’s just been a constant (and at times more of an expansion) as I’ve gotten older. We’ll talk about diets and all that fun stuff a bit later but let’s just say I’ve tried just about everything under the sun and I still look like a serial buffet molester. I’m reasonably lucky in that I’ve also always been tall- 6’4- and that my weight has been reasonably well distributed across my body. I’ve known people who hadn’t been dealt as good a hand and it’s caused them endless physical, not to mention psychological, problems as a result. That’s not to say I’ve gotten off scot-free in that regard, but I’m well aware of how much worse I could have had it.
Being a big person you automatically have a fairly unique perspective on things. For instance, I think that the military should start recruiting fat people to be strategic advisors. Why? Fat people are freaking experts with a lifetime of experience at evaluating situations and coming up with rapid solutions to problems. We do this every time we walk into a crowded room or a new environment with untested furniture. Immediately your fat-sense starts to tingle and you’re taking in the room at a glance to decide on the best path to take to meet the least amount of resistance, or evaluating which chair might be safe for you to sit in without reducing it to toothpicks and firewood.
I’ve had more chairs break on me than a professional wrestler.
There’s nothing as panic-inducing as being in a crowded room or in someone else’s home, sitting in a chair, feeling it start to creak, and realizing that you’ve made a tactical error in furniture selection. There’s also nothing as impactful on your self esteem. If it happens once it’s embarrassing and you can usually laugh it off. When it happens often enough that your friends have “special” chairs for you to use when you come over, it really starts to make an impact.
This kind of highly-honed threat assessment is developed at an early age as a survival mechanism in the vast jungles of adolescence. I can remember, as a kid, dreading the bus rides to school. Now, no kid likes to ride the cheese, but for big people it was a daily source of dread and humiliation. For me it was extra special, because not only was I taller than just about everyone else and big enough that I took up most of the bus seat as it was, but I was also a nerd. Not just any kind of nerd either- I was a band nerd. Which meant that not only was I carrying a seventy-five pound backpack filled to capacity with school books, but also a trumpet case the size of a small trunk. I looked like a mutant hobo ready for life on the road.
Being as how I grew up in the south, every morning the bus ride to school was like a re-enactment of scenes from Forrest Gump, with me looking forlorn as I slowly hauled my crap down the bus aisle looking for a place to sit as little redneck kids would shake their heads and reply in a slow southern drawl “Seat’s taken.” As a result I made it my mission in life to be the first in line to get on the bus after school so I’d be able to snag the Mecca of school bus seats before anyone else- the half seat at the very back of the bus next to the emergency door. It was the perfect size for me and had enough room on the floor next to it so that I could stow my luggage and not have to sit with it constantly digging into my legs. Plus it meant I didn’t have to worry about sharing the seat with someone else while they complained that I took up all the room.
Survival of the Wittiest
The school bus was also the place where I could develop another useful tool in the arsenal of fat people- being a smartass. See, when you’re big you really only have a few options for self defense against the other kids. One, you can be the introverted fat kid that hardly ever talks and prays that the other kids just won’t notice you or care enough to mess with you. Two, you can become a bully and use your size to your advantage, coming from the school of thought that if they’re afraid of you they won’t mess with you. Third, you can become a smartass, because if you can make them laugh at something (or someone) else, then they’re not laughing at you.
I’ve tried the first option, and I have to admit that it really doesn’t work all that well. For one, when you’re as big as I am you never really “blend.” When you walk into a room you’re going to draw attention regardless of what you say or do. Plus, when you act introverted and keep to yourself it’s like wearing a bullseye on your back for all the less intelligent social predators looking for easy prey.
The second option is very tempting to someone who’s been picked on all their life. The idea of not only fighting back, but of having people be afraid of you is great, in an ideological sort of way. I mean every guy fantasizes about being the Clint Eastwood of the schoolyard where everyone shows you “respect” and all the girls swoon. Unfortunately the reality doesn’t live up to the hype. When you’re a bully, no one really likes you. They may act like they respect you, but it’s really only fear, and your so-called friends won’t hesitate to turn on you as soon as the opportunity presents itself and they think they can get away with it. Any kind of relationship built on fear is only an empty illusion, and a life devoid of true friendship, loyalty, or respect can be worse than living with getting picked on all the time.
Plus, being a bully means you have to hurt people and the reality of seeing someone truly in pain and knowing that you caused it is far different than the romanticized version that we’ve grown so used to seeing in various types of media. The fact of the matter is when you’re a big person you have to be that much more aware of the kind of damage you can unwittingly cause. What is normal roughhousing for most kids becomes something that could be decidedly more dangerous when you add someone twice their size into the mix. This is a lesson I learned the hard way one summer when I was ten years old.
My cousin and I grew up together in Granite City, Illinois. Granite is a small steel mill city just across the bridge from St. Louis and both sides of my family are from there. I lived there until I was seven and my dad, who worked for the Kroger Bakery as a supervisor, was transferred to Houston, TX. While my cousin and I were always close, he grew up on the bad side of town, and tended to have a street mentality about things. By that I mean that if he gets mad, he lashes out. If he feels you’ve insulted him, he lashes out. Sometimes it means he just decides he’s going to be a jerk for no other reason than he felt like it at the time. I don’t mean to trivialize his issues, because he did have a lot of them. He didn’t have a great childhood or home life to begin with, and once my family and I moved he really didn’t have many positive outlets left to him.
That summer my parents had him sent down to stay with us for a while. Most of the time he and I got along fine. The rest of the time our “fights” consisted of little more than calling each other names and going off to our respective corners of the house to sulk for a bit. However one night things escalated into something physical.
The fight started over something pretty stupid, as most fights at that age do. My little sister, who was not yet six at the time, had fallen asleep on the couch while we were all watching T.V. and I wanted to carry her into her bedroom and put her to bed. My dad worked nights and mom was in another room at the time, so I asked my cousin to go in and pull back the covers so I could lay her down. For whatever reason, he decided he wanted to make an issue out of it and refused. We went back and forth a few times until I finally gave up and just put my sister in her bed on top of the blankets.
When I came back out he and I got into an argument about it. He pushed me. I pushed him back. He pushed me hard. Before I knew it we were in my bedroom doing our best to kill one another. Now because my bed was fairly small, my parents had taken the mattress off the bed and put it in the floor so we’d have more room and no one would fall and hurt themselves if they happened to roll off the bed. This also conveniently gave him a frame to use like the ropes on a wrestling ring and jump on my back and choke me. Without thinking I grabbed at his arm, which at this time was wrapped around my throat doing a boa constrictor impression, and threw him over my shoulder to land rather spectacularly onto the mattress on the floor. His body bounced a few times before finally coming to a rest, at which point my mom, having heard all the noise, stormed into the room and separated us.
Now, this all sounds like a pretty silly fight like most boys that age have. The problem, as my father pointed out to me later, was that it could have ended up being something serious. My cousin was a year older than me, but I was still several inches taller and more than twice his size. Had that mattress not been there to break his fall, I could have very easily hurt him. In fact, looking back on it, considering how forcefully he hit I’m surprised that he didn’t end up hurting his neck or back anyway. My dad really made sure to hit that point home with me that night when he got back from work. He wasn’t mad that I defended myself, but he did want me to realize that someone my size had to be extra careful in everything physical that I did, especially with other people. That night I learned that with great weight comes great responsibility to not crush people, and I’ve never been in a fight since.
So, if being the quiet kid just got you picked on, and being a bully wasn’t an option, then that left being a smartass. Now, it took me years to really come out of my shell and fully embrace my destiny, but by the time I was a junior in high school I realized that when you can make people laugh and are generally a nice guy, they tend to like having you around. Liking having you around doesn’t really correlate to true friendship or wanting to date you, but we’ll address that a bit later. So as a result I’ve come to rely on my wit and sense of humor when it comes to dealing with people. I don’t do it just as a defense mechanism anymore, though it can certainly become one when I’m nervous or scared. Over the years I’ve genuinely enjoyed having the ability to make someone laugh, especially when you’re trying to help and need to get the other person to open up a bit.
I had a professor at Lee University, Dr. Bill Effler, that used to teach Personal Evangelism. It was basically a class that was meant to prepare wannabe ministers to be evangelists. During that class Dr. Effler said something that really had an impact on me. In fact, it was something that became a personal mantra of mine that I’ve since gone on to teach to my own students: in order to reach anyone, you have to first earn the right to be heard. It’s easy for people, especially ministers, to assume that just because you have something to say then the other person has some kind of responsibility to listen. That’s not true. Why should anyone listen to what you have to say? Why should they believe a word that comes out of your mouth? If respect is earned, then so is the right to be heard by other people. Using humor to relate to people, to make them laugh and feel good, is one way to earn the right to be heard. Besides, being a smartass can be a lot of fun.
Alternatives
Now while furniture and public transportation can be problems for big people, public restrooms are definitely no friend to the fat man. I’ve seen some restroom stalls so small that I was literally afraid that I’d get stuck if I tried to use them. One of the most horrific experiences of my life was moving in to the dorms at Lee University and finding out that we had community bathrooms and all the stalls were of the average “holy crap I hope I don’t die” variety. I was only in those particular dorms for a semester, and believe me one of the best things about moving out and into the apartment dorms was having a normal bathroom again.
Because stalls are such a pain in the rear (often literally) that means that I generally have to wait until the handicap stall is available. Ahh, the handicap stall- the fat man’s home away from home: large toilets, plenty of room to maneuver, and sometimes even a private sink. While the half-seat at the back of the bus was the Mecca of bus seats, the handicap stall is the Mecca of bathrooms. My bathroom at home isn’t as nice as some of the handicap stalls I’ve been blessed enough to frequent. In fact, on the trip between Memphis, where my parents and I currently live, and Chattanooga, where I went to college and worked for several years, I have specific places I always stop to fill up and use the restroom just because I know they have four star handicap stalls. Sounds ridiculous? Ask any fat person you know. If they’re brave enough to admit it, they’ll tell you they have their favorite bathroom alternatives as well.
Because that’s what you have to do to really get by as a big person. You have to think ahead, use strategy, assess and respond. If the zombie apocalypse ever happens, don’t save the cute chick with the big breasts. Save the fat people. They may not be as much fun to look at, but they’ll be able to use their tactical genius to keep you alive until the government comes with flamethrowers and shotguns. Just be sure to stock up on beef jerky. We don’t think as good on an empty stomach.
Clothes Make the Big Man
Another source of dread growing up was clothes shopping. I can remember saying a silent prayer every time I tried something on, hoping to God that it’d fit and I wouldn’t have to shamefully exit the dressing room and shake my head as my frustrated parents went off to search for something else. I never got to wear the fun clothes that the other kids did, with pictures of the Simpsons, Homey the Clown, or superheroes on the front. Instead every day I looked like a pre-teen dressing up as a middle aged accountant for Halloween due to the fact that most of my shirts and pants, at the time, were bought in the adult section where my father shopped.
As I got older, and bigger, clothes became even harder for me to find. Now they have big and tall shops where it makes it a bit easier for people like me to find decent clothes, but up until a few years ago it used to mean ordering special clothes using a catalog and paying easily twice as much for them as normal people do. For that reason, even now, my wardrobe is woefully limited and being able to wear the same pair of jeans that you wore a year ago is a point of pride- like athletes presenting their trophies. “See this pair of jeans? I’ve had these for three years! I haven’t ripped the butt out of them or anything!”
Shopping for underwear is even more fun. Tighty-whiteys really live up to the name when you’re my size. I wore them for years and can remember the excruciating pain that could occur when you shift the wrong way and the edges ride up as far on the crotch highway as is physically possible. That was especially fun when driving, leaving me desperately shifting and squirming to try and pick them out of the dark crevices of my lower half while doing my best not to crash my car. Often I’d just rip the things out of desperate frustration and be left with nothing but just dangling cloth covering what was left of my modesty like something God might have fashioned for Adam out of animal skins.
Eventually I gave up on conventional underwear all together and am currently employing pairs of shorts in the position usually occupied by boxers. They’re more durable, comfortable, and they have pockets. Why I’d need pockets for my underwear I’m not sure, but they’re there just the same so at least I’ve got options. I guess if I’m ever visiting a foreign country I could keep my wallet in those pockets as opposed to trying to fashion a sumo-sized fanny pack. Even the best pick pocket in the world wouldn’t be able to get his/her hands down my pants and take my wallet…at least not without dinner and a movie first. After all, I do have standards.
You can read more “Down With the Thickness” here.
© 2009-2012 J.R. Broadwater
Filed under Down With The Thickness, Novels
