Monday, November 17, 2014

Having Lunch With Eddie Munster and the Queen of Sheba

There is nothing worse than an exercise buzz being killed off by someone who couldn’t do a sit up if her head was sitting in a fire ant mound and she was covered in molasses. Odd word, “molasses” and it does occur to me that I might have never used it in a sentence before that wasn’t describing someone slow, which by the way, I have to find another metaphor now because where you find someone in a restaurant who is stuffing themselves you are equally likely to find someone who is moving like, uh, damn, see the problem here?
Speaking of odd words, I woke up last night and realized I didn’t know where Sheba is or was for that matter and I got up and Google Maps tells me it’s in Yemen and Ethiopia. It may seem a bit of a disconnect but the woman who was killing herself at the pizza buffet looked, hmmm, foreign and I was trying to figure out what country she might have hailed from. The details about people bother me when they shouldn’t and do not bother me when they should, but this woman might have been from anywhere in the Mediterranean. Not that she looked like the Queen of Sheba or hell, she might have for all we know, but there she was sitting with her legs gapped open as wide as they could get, her thighs hiding anything that might have needed hiding, and pizza is the last thing I would have used as a suicide weapon, but clearly she was on the right path.

I had to move to another table, really. But the woman wasn’t the real problem. The real and true problem here was her son, and they looked so much alike it’s impossible to think he might have been anything other, but maybe a clone. Now, this was a young man, who might have been every bit of about fifteen, who had women figured out. His hair was slicked back like I haven’t seen since those guys from the fifties. I’m glad we’re done with the fifties. The fifties sucked. But here’s a James Dean wannabe and, step back ladies, because he has on a Burger King jacket. Nothing says a man is a class act like menswear from a fastfood joint. But let’s not stop there, why on earth would we? He has on enough body spray to ignite spontaneously if the humidity drops one half of one percent. How does one apply that much perfume? Was there a dunking stool? Was there a sudden shower of cheap body spray? Was there a small striped mammal using different ammo?

Do women find that attractive? I’ve never had a woman tell me she didn’t like the way I smelled and longingly yearned for the chemical spill experience. I’ve never had a woman buy me a ten gallon jug of cologne.

He looks a little like Eddie Munster. He’s in line at the salad bar ahead of me, nearly killing me, and he’s texting with one hand and trying to fill up a plate with the other. Text, put plate down, put item on plate, text, pick plate up, move an inch or so… Then he hoses it down with Ranch Dressing.

So this place doesn’t have waitstaff. They have a guy that cleans off the tables and he isn’t happy with me for switching seats. Then he goes over to Sheba and Eddie’s table and you can see it on his face. WHOA! DUDE! Eddie is eating with one hand and texting with another. But he’s got a landfill’s worth of paper napkins covering his Burger King jacket. Yeah, don’t want to ruin that!

I have this odd vision of this guy’s wedding. I can see Sheba dressed in all black, in mourning over losing him to some woman she doesn’t think is worthy. I can see Eddie in something that has ruffles in front to catch falling food and a Burger King logo on the back. I can see his eight months pregnant girlfriend who has found a job working at home from an ad she saw in the newspaper when she was trying to light the grill in back of the trailer. But they have their own reality television show at the moment because the fetus has become the first American to be declared obese before birth.

This whole thing is going to turn into some science fiction horror story when it’s discovered that the GMO’s that are floating around everywhere are actually using us as a medium to evolve within. Human who consume vast amounts of genetically modified food, also consume vast amounts of genetically modified DNA. Given a warm host, enough generations of trying, and eventually we’ll spawn some sort of odd organism that exists within humans and lives off High Fructose Corn Syrup.

For all we know, we’re already there.


Look around you. People look pregnant. They appear to be gestating. And they’re giving birth to young who are already hosts to the organism that they have been carrying for so long. We go to a great deal of effort to keep these things alive. We’ll avoid activity that might harm it. But most of all we’re changing our diets to suit the needs and desires of genetically modified thing that grows inside of our bodies.


I can see there being a reality television show that, shockingly, embraces our inner obesity as evolution. Here are creatures who carry the greatest amount of DNA within them since time began. Within those bodies are chromosomes with DNA sequences that nature never intended. Like the mosquito that takes blood samples from a dozen hosts, there’s no telling what will become of the DNA inside, and perhaps something new and exciting will arrive one day.

Or it might be killing us. That’s the one downside to this adventure. Science fiction and a good storyline aside for a moment, the idea that we’re going to turn into another species because our food has been played with to the point it’s no long nutritious, can be sold to the fans of Honey Boo Boo, and sold by the soft drink industry, but the rest of us?

We’ll have to see what sort of ratings the show gets first.

Take Care,
Mike







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