A man in debt for tens of thousands to a person he utterly despises, morbidly obese and arguing with his toilet on a daily basis. What could be more pathetic
I like to imagine its a Peewees Playhouse situation where everything in his house is alive........and everything actively chooses to dick with him
He wakes up to a comically large cuckoo alarm clock screaming "
FAT FUCK.....FAT FUCK.....FAT FUCK" every time the little bird comes out.
Sighing to himself he manoeuvres himself out of bed, and the bed then loudly declares "
OH GAWD MY LEGS ARE BROKEN, PLEASE STOP EATING SO MUCH".
Ignoring this latest insult, fat waddles over to the bathroom, each floorboard groaning in a way that sounds suspiciously like "
queeeeeeeeer" as he treads on them.
Sighing once again he sits himself down on the toilet and empties his bowels, trying and failing to block off the performative screams of horror from the toilet peppered by remarks on how much Nikki gaped his ass last night.
Rising to the sink to wash his hands, he glances up at the mirror which reflects him being brutally assfucked in prison by large african americans.
Cursing under his breath he strips naked, to the taunting shrieks and giggles of all around him, and steps into the shower, which in the tenor of an elderly english actor remarks "
by jove I must say your willy looks rather small today Mr Tomlinson, smaller than usual that is. May I enquire if its especially cold today?" Ignoring this fatrick tries to clean himself as fast as he can, but the shower keeps on talking "
Also I must say those bitch tits are looking rather shiny, you may wish to see a doctor about this dear boy."
Making his way downstairs, each stair creaking the word "
faaaaaaaaat" as he moves, he is greeted by his over enthusiastic couch. "
WELL HELLO THERE MISTER PATRICK, BOY DID NIKKI AND RO'DAN HAVE FUN ON ME LAST NIGHT" the words stabbing into Patrick's lard encrusted heart he ignores them but the couch just keeps talking "
AND POOR MISTER RO'DAN MUST HAVE HAD A TUMMY ACHE BECAUSE HE KEPT ON MAKING TOILET NOISES, AND POOR MRS NIKKI WAS SO SHOCKED SHE WAS SQEALING FOR HOURS DUHOOOY"
Suddenly the suspiciously large rotary phone rings, and desperate to end the one sided conversation Patrick lumbers over to it at full speed. "
Hello Mr Tomlinson? This is Kathleen Kennedy, one of your friends sent me over a manuscript of your deconstructive Christmas Carol novel and I gotta say this is the exact kind of witty writing and heartfelt storytelling we need for our upcoming New Jedi Order Movie, I know this is sudden but would you be interested in coming to our offices to discuss a writing contract?"
Sputtering in joy and with tears rolling down his bloated cheeks Fatrick squeaks out the answer of yes "
fantastic, we will send you the plane tickets to San Fransisco so you can visit our offices there, first class of course.....oh and I almost forgot....sorry this is just a formality but may as well get it out of the way now.....first we will need you to PAY QUASI YOU FAT FUCKING FAGGOT" at which point the phone lights up and sprays him with some suspiciously salty and opaque white fluid.
Slamming the cackling phone down, and choking back a sob fatrick makes for the front door.....only to hear a furious pounding upon it "
MR TOMLINSON THIS IS THE POLICE! WE HAVE YOUR HOVEL SURROUNDED AND KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH! YOU HAVE PRECISELY THREE SECONDS TO OPEN THE DAMN DOOR BEFORE WE SEND IN THE SWAT TEAM!".
Flashbacks of the last time he was swatted in which an overly violent cavity search was performed right there on the front porch flooding his mind, Fatrick collapses to the floor shrieking in mindless panic as his PTSD consumes him....only for the door to then giggle "
oops sorry Mister Patrick, I forgot it wasnt April 1st!" and swing open to reveal an empty porch as every item in the house begins to laugh at Pat in unison until he tearfully scurries out to the relative comfort and serenity of a local bar.
