Gorged On An Enormous 99

Used to know a guy called Animal, which probably says it all about me. His party trick was to stuff a McDonalds quarter pounder and cheeseburger into his gob simultaneously without breaking sweat. On a good day his gut could comfortably cover his dick (standing up position). Amazingly he beat me at squash once in 1981, the trembling blubber neutralised my coordination and put me off my game. His catchphrase was “there’s nothing more gross than a fat man stuffing his gob,” and this is so true.

Earlier today (1 Jan) I was on the 10.48 from Stansted Mountfitchet to Cambridge to capture a whiff of culture and inspiration when an odd man caught my attention. The 40 year old was ogling an enormous 99 cone with 2 deeply wedged flakes, his grin as he rhythmically licked the sides of his treat could only be described as satanic. This repulsive overweight man seemed set to enjoy this culinary experience for some time when all of a sudden he rammed the cone fully into his gob. It was then that I thought of the Animal. As we pulled into Cambridge this creature pulled out a camera phone from his pocket and then by extending his arm out he haphazardly started taking gloating photos of his face. The delight shown on his face was both childlike and frightening. He stood then stared at his own self-portraits as he bungled his way forward and eventually off the carriage. It was the most bizarre 32-minute journey I had undertaken for some time.

For those of you who are remotely interested the Animal died in bizarre circumstances several years ago. Whilst repairing a plastic roof on a poultry outhouse on a farm he lost his balance, slipped and fell to the ground, smacking his temple against a concrete girder. He was found the following day, covered in chicken shit, by a couple of Dutch ramblers who raised the alarm. The story, according to legend, becomes even more extraordinary. The Animal’s carcass was taken to the local mortuary and laid to rest. During the evening the mortuary technician picked up a faint clucking sound coming from the Animal’s resting slab. Assuming the Animal had arisen from the dead the technician lifted the shroud and to his utter shock witnessed a tiny chick escaping from the Animal’s clenched thighs. The subsequent trauma suffered by that poor chick is unimaginable; 24 hours trapped inside the Animal’s buttocks with rigor mortis set full on is not right, and to imagine that poor chick growing up and then ending up shrink-wrapped on a supermarket shelf six months later, then roasted, is again not right.