Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
An hour later, you reach the end of your block and start looking for a ride, your thumb outstretched in the universal "Going My Way?" gesture.
At first, you meet with little success. Time passes, and none of the passing cars pan out. Either they just drive by slooooowly, rubbernecking all the way, or they take one look at you and shake their heads, chuckling at what you presume to be the idea of your blubbery body fitting inside their cars.
Then there are the rude ones. The sheer number of people that drive by just to call you "Fatso", "Tubbo", "Lardo" and "Thunderthighs" boggles your imagination. Not to mention the ones that walk past and offer diet advice ... you begin to contemplate asking the next one how he'd feel after eating twelve bananas a day ...
Finally, a passing eighteen-wheeler stops, its air brakes hissing like water on a griddle. "Hey, buddy", calls the bearded, moon-faced driver from inside the cab, "Need a lift?"
"Yeah!", you yell back as you hoist yourself to your feet. "You know a place called 'Weightdevisions, Inc.'?"
"Not really", he replies. "What's the address?" You recite the address from the bottle, and his round visage breaks into a grin. "Oh, that place!", he answers you. "Sure, that's the last stop on my route! I'll take ya, if ya don't mind ridin' in back!"
Looking at the cab door, about five feet off the ground, you think to yourself, If he thinks I have a choice, he's either blind or stupid. "No problem!", you shout back to him. "I might need a little help getting in, though!"
"Sure!", he says, and opens the door of the cab. As he drops a set of stairs into place and descends to earth, you fully appreciate the sheer size of the man. With brown hair past his shoulders and a beard that spreads across his chest, he looks like a cross between a redneck and a brown bear, his own paunch almost half the size of your own. You can hardly keep from staring at him as he half-waddles to the rear of the truck, speeding far ahead of your own dragging footsteps.
By the time you catch up to him, he's already lowered the freight lift to the ground. With a grunt of exertion, he kneels to unfold the lifting platform. "There", he drawls, now that he doesn't have to shout to you. "This oughta get'cha in."
"Thanks", you pant, tired from forcing your legs against the drooping shackle of your belly. You step onto the freight lift and, at the pull of a lever, the electric motor strains into life, slowly bearing you upward. "What's the cargo?", you ask your fat new friend as you spot boxes half-filling the truck.
"Candy bars", he grunts as he shuts off the motor, now that you're on even footing with the trailer. "Store downtown ordered 100 cases, but some fool added a zero."
Candy bars? You hesitate, remembering the feeding frenzy that led to your present condition. "Ah, don't worry", he adds as he lowers the platform into position to fold it away. "You can have some if you want. Heck, I've got a box up front in the cab." He shrugs. "Don't make no nevermind to the comp'ny. Any leftovers, they just throw 'em in the trash. They got the fattest mice in the world", he finishes with a grin as he hoists the platform back to its folded position and stores it away, hoisting himself to his feet with the help of one meaty hand against the lip of the trailer.
You almost ask to be let down ... but you face facts. It isn't likely anyone else will come along to get you where you're going, so you might as well lump it. Besides, you figure, how long can it take?
"Now, I got a few more stops to make", the trucker tells you as he prepares to close the doors, "so you just settle in. I'll bring ya dinner later." And with a clang of metal on metal, you are closed into the darkness, only a few slivers of light along the doorframes allowing you to see your surroundings.
Dinner?, you think incredulously. This could take longer than I thought. Your stomach rumbles, and you contemplate the boxes of unwanted candy. After all, you reason, nobody else wants it. I'm not stealing or anything ... he even said I could have some.
On the other hand, you consider, do I really need candy when I'm almost too fat to walk?
The engine roars into life, and you sit down next to a stack of boxes, rather than get thrown down when the truck starts moving. Your stomach rumbles again, and you think of the candy lying within arm's reach. Finally, you ...
Written by Wanderer