Gluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

 “Excuse me Sir. Please drop the candy bar and slowly back away from the small child”.    

Who Ate My Chili?Gluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

So you’re gonna let me vent right?  Check this out. I can’t mention his name but maybe by chance you’ll figure it out but for now we’ll just call him “Tiny”.  To tell you the truth,  I’m not trying to be dragged back into the managers office, again.

 Ok! This Pudding Pop ponderer, Leona Helmsley good for nothing gossip queen in tights, short, low to the ground skippin, no backside havin (not that I be lookin), a pig wrapped tightly in it’s blanket, Rudolph the red nose blowin, grits, cheese wit butta lickin, sausage and shrimp with garlic sauce smackin, Jelly roll Dunkin Doughnut eatin, coffee inhaler drinking, hot’n heavy breathing after a flight of steps,  Jolly Ranch crushing and suckin (wrapper included), Santa Clause stomach rubbin, lazy boy sitting, sleeping and snoring at the desk, “where’s my bonus check? I got things to do”, poor excuse of a co-worker and a waste of space type of a guy who half ass works at my job; pulled up today driving a tiny two-seater looking like an elephant in a circus act off a back dirt road show in Kansas.

People didn’t know if they should feel some type of way for him or to feel sorry for the car. The sight was nothing short of a spectacle to say the least when he squeezed and popped out of his ride wearing a ballerina’s tutu. He even did a pirouette, splashing around in the middle of the street smack dab in a puddle of muddy water. He was light on his feet and stood on his tippy toes to complete a circle. I think he’s done this before. Then he asks, “Did the party start without me?”

A shocked on looker replied, “No”.  So, dude bust into his Michael Jackson/McDonald’s Happy Meal with Fries and Strawberry Harlem Shake dance because he knew while at the Christmas party he was gonna get his grub on, for free. “Free 99! Super size dat muthaphucka and put some duck sauce on it while you’re at it”, he said.

The flyer did mention to dress festive but good goddamn. What was he wearing and what was he thinking? I guess he should have asked for more clarity, clothes wise that is.  Of all the things a person can wear.  I thought I’ve seen it all.  Everyone at the event stood still in shock and some watched in fear while others partially watched in amazement to see what was going to happen next. It had gotten so quiet one could clearly hear a rat piss on cotton.

Who Ate My ChiliGluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

I must say, her ride… Excuse me. I meant to say, his car was cleaner than the board of health but his breath smelt like a stale Black & Mild cigar.  My mother always said if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all. I aint one to talk about anybody but I’m just sayin and you didn’t hear it from me, cause I’m not one to gossip.

This, I’m just here for the show and to pick up a check muthaphucka, always stayin hungry, waaay too huge to be called tiny, got caught sticking his finger in the pudding bowl at the party thinking nobody was looking, “like OMG!”, greedy ass, “is my pants too tight?” wearing, stands all day in front of a Phuckin fan to cool off cause he sweats, Moby Dick, Shamu da whale flappin, he eats, drinks, everything he see just because it’s there, pork n bean juice dripping from his beard, food stained shirt wearin, “why is everybody looking at me?” askin, “I woke up like this”, “I’m late because my cell phone fell under the bed” type of Niggah at the job, who ate my muthaphukin chili last night.

Did I fail to mention, I fear all those burnt images of gluttony on my brain?

Who Ate My ChiliWhat Is This Foolishness?

Time Out… What’s wrong with this picture? I tell ya, errrrbody wants some of that black pudding pie. You gonna tell me he can’t wait until he get her upstairs in the hotel room?  I mean, look at him. He’s turn red. I can’t… I know what he’s saying. “Elect me and I will screw you too”.  SMH. I just can’t right now. Tiny and his friends plan to vote for him, by the way.

Talking bout burnt images. History tends to repeat itself. Some of his immigration stances reminds me of a man called Hitler.  Be careful for what you ask for. Which reminds me of what I was talking about.

Who Ate My Chili?Gluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

Now back to Mr. good for nothing. “Why are all the boys looking at me?” Stinky, Pepe Lepue cologne wearin, “Ew! Did I step into something that was squishy, squashy” askin, Mary Mac greens leavin on the keyboard,  Mrs. Fields cookie monster no milk necessary, Mrs. Paul’s Butterball Turkey ripe for the stuffin, One eyed Jack cards playin, killing muffins no bluffin but the dozens, “are these rib tips or not?”,  Mr. “I just hate it when that happens”, “is that spit in the garbage can? Oh, I gotta throw up”, type of a dude at the office.

I mean this so called co-worker whom is never on time, always late and will stand in front of a fan acting as if it’s an air conditioner on full blast during a nuclear fallout. Talking about, “I don’t know why I sweat so much?”  I know why you sweat, so much.  Maybe it’s the entire pot of coffee you just gulped down without coming up for air. Wait, did you offer anyone a cup?  I don’t think so. Hum,  I don’t know. Let’s see…  Maybe it’s not you it’s the security guard who gives chase every time you leave Publix with an non purchased food item in hand.

Tiny claims they didn’t give him a receipt that day.  Hello! They don’t give receipts to thieves. All five finger discount(s) don’t warrant a receipt. Maybe you ate the receipt by mistake?  I bet you feel like everybody picks on you?  Maybe, just maybe, if you had slowly backed away from the onion dip at the party the table wouldn’t have somehow collapsed.  Do the math and do your waistline a favor why don’t cha.

Who Ate My Chili?

Gluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

Check this out… I know why those way too tight, straight leg jeans wearin, little boyz, hover around his desk during lunch time. Many of them plot and plan a successful bid to sleep with him. They be in single file patiently waiting their turn. I guess some guys like teddy bears too.

The rumor has it and you didn’t hear it from me. He slurps and burps bunnies on Tuesday, bends ova and gladly pays for it on Thursday. Takes painkillers on Friday. Then he repeats this godless routine with a feverish passion the following week. I remember catching him coming out of the woman’s bathroom helping himself to the free tampons they have hanging on the wall. They say he uses them to stop the leaking. Whatever that means.  His shyt stain underwear can be smelt through his suit.

He’s a foot long frank eatin, ketchup, mustard, sauerkraut covered wit onions steamin, breath on 10 like halitosis, hallauha for peppermints.  If he wasn’t funny and if people didn’t like him his appearance would be his detriment. To see men walk by and not speak to each other is one thing but to witness grown men being salty because their lipstick is crooked is unbelievable.

At the job, I call him “Big Swole” because his stomach is hard and swollen.  Um… Ok, he told me his stomach is hard.  (Cloud bubble to self… Yeah, that’s it. Stick with that story).  I didn’t touch it or anything like that. I swear.  To tell you the truth he actually knocked me down to the floor, with it one day.  I was in the back room and I’ll admit I was in his way while he was passing and his stomach struck me.  I mean it just came alive.  (Cloud bubble to self… I don’t like the way this is reading).  I tried to forget that ever happened.  He did say excuse me before he passed. I thought I moved but I must have been still in his way.  I don’t know anymore. They say I passed out. Jesus! My head hurts just thinking about it.

One Saturday evening during an overnight shift his bitch ass had the nerve to tell me that he thought I wasn’t coming in to work. I’m like, when do I don’t come into work?  He pissed me off.  He didn’t call nor did he text me to confirm this was the case.  So he took it upon himself to eat my portion of table scrapings left for me by Mrs. Pork.  Mrs. Pork was known for her famous southern style chili and it was truly kind of her to think of me in that way. I waited an entire year for her famous chili and here he come, Mr. two months on the job.

Who Ate My Chili?

Gluttonous Maximus: Who Ate My Chili?

When she makes her famous chili Mrs. Pork puts her foot in it. However, Tiny must have smelt it, had gotten excited and placed his hoof in it. I bet he sucked up that chili like a human Hoover vacuum (sound effects and all). Mrs. Pork had prepared two separate Tupperware bowls with lids. She added two sets of silverware both wrapped in a paper towel.  This son of a extinct beast tried to tell me, with a straight face, that she had bought it down for him and he had already eaten it.  What pissed me off even more was when he started laughing and turnt red and shyt, mentioning “it was good too”.  To add insult upon injury, he was sloppy with his cover up.  Tiny’s fingers was still covered with chili sauce. A dead give away of his crime were his additional finger prints all ova the empty milk carton which he had failed to throw away.

He thought it was funny and said I was childish to bring up the matter. Yeah, he can say that now with a full stomach. Sidebar… I know you know Muthaphucka’s up north get a beat down for less, right? In the red state I’m currently living in the “Monster” is real so to fight a person and risk the chance of getting cut is a no-no.  So I let him live to see another day but I be thinking about kicking that ass everyday.  In my mind its a cage match beat down including chairs, tables and ladders.  In my mind, I body slammed him until he pooped out the chili or threw it all up in a bowl.  Hey, you can’t go to jail thinking about a crime you didn’t commit. Or can you?

Check this out… They elected Tiny to be the fire warden but get this, he’s afraid of elevators and has a fear of heights.  Imagine that. How do you apply and accept a job that primarily has you going up and down on the elevator all day everyday?  You know somebody hooked him up on the inside with this gig. Yo, if somebody spits in the garbage can he freaks out and goes home for the day.  Who does that?  However, Tiny does like to walk dogs, feed cats, water plants and play with small children.  He’s special that way.  Oh, and he doesn’t like it when people speak to him with authority as if their are his boss. So we can only imagine he must have had a rough childhood or maybe somebody had thrown sand in his face while playing in the sandbox as a child.  His famous quote on any day is , “I’m so over it”.

On Gay Pride Weekend he called the job saying he would be late because some woman had vomited on him while riding the bus to work.  He had get off the bus and go home to change his clothes. Yeah, right. I bet he had to change his clothes and vomit had nothing to do with it.  Who comes up with this kind of shyt?  Needless to say, Uncle Touchy didn’t arrive to work until five and a half hours later.  Why didn’t he just take the day off?

Who Ate My Chili?

Gluttonous Maximus: Uncle Touchy

In the past I use to work for a news department. My research game is strong which allowed to come to find out Tiny use to live in San Francisco. In his community, back home the little kids had given him the nick name, Uncle Touchy.  Yeah it’s on his rap sheet. It seems he has a sexual history. Tiny likes to touch on himself and feel up on small children when he visits the playground next to his apartment, up on the hill. He chooses small children whom are mentally challenged; kids that can’t exactly express the way they feel.

There’s no real proof that sticks but it is kinda strange whenever he’s around children they either run and hide or never come out of the bathroom.  I wonder why?  Now it’s clear and I understand why the dogs bounce off that walls and go crazy whenever they pass his desk at the job. I think they can sense that sick pedophile shyt.

Now it all makes sense.  It’s clear to me when he said he had to go to the police precinct to register.  I don’t know why I thought he meant he had to register to vote. What was I thinking?

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Harlem,

Heaven is at the foot of Mother…

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