The Skinny Power Eater

                                                                    "The Skinny Power Eater"





It wasn’t the best place to show off his talent, if you considered what he had to be talent and what he was doing at the moment showing off. Most of the other guys in the room fit into the big trucker category as far as human classifications were concerned. There were a few deer hunters and generalized rift-rafts in attendance.

         The Colossal Piggy did sport the severed head of a brown bear on the wall above the fireplace as an attempt at decoration. The bear would have been doubly offended, possibly more than getting shot, had he known his decapitated head merely collected dust on a wall in a rundown restaurant in the Colorado Rockies.

Spectators were cheering for him in the background he thought, but his vision was focused on the remaining food. His concentration was intense as he started shoveling the last few ounces in. His shirt and face were covered in the sweet barbecue sauce from the drenched meat.

         Earlier, he had dripped some of the sauce onto the floor and had to inquire as to if this counted as part of the meal for the contest. He was informed that he merely had to finish the meat and keep it down twenty minutes. He was given an hour and a half to accomplish all this; fair enough he had eaten more in less time. The timeframe wasn’t the issue. The issue was Fat Hairy, the guy sitting two tables over with a more than appropriate name. He was bald and had a long red beard. On his right arm was a tattoo of a pair of breasts, just breasts, not the rest of the woman, this seemed to be a proper decoration for this swine of a man.

         Derrick guessed Fat Hairy to be a trucker, although he could be an accountant or engineer it was hard to tell because everyone had tattoos these days. He did have one other problem besides Fat Hairy and that was the wagering going on all around him. For several reasons most of the bets were going Fat Harry’s way—he had home field and a hundred pound weight advantage. Derrick also guessed Fat Harry ate like this on a regular basis, in the comfort of his home, in front of the big screen.

         Basically, Derrick felt, if all this wagering didn’t go the way these boys wanted it to go then there might be retribution of the physical kind. Derrick was a brutal, quick fighter when not stuffed full of succulent brisket. But if this scene got out of hand he would have zero mobility and very few allies. He thought a couple of these guys looked like cops, judging by the buzz cuts and obvious fondness for barbecue cuisine (one of the suspects across from Derrick had put down probably over four pounds of food in ribs, chicken and hot wings) and he wasn’t even a part of the twenty man competition.

         Fat Harry had a determined look on his face, on top of the fact that he was catching up rapidly since he let out that monstrous belch a few moments ago. He looks at Derrick with a bit of hostility and disbelief. This man clearly considers himself to be on the top of the food chain, yet this insignificant creature two tables down is proving to be top carnivore. Fat Harry doesn’t believe this sort of thing should happen in the world of power eating. He has the overwhelming size advantage. That’s the same thing as being the smarter guy in a chess match. What he doesn’t understand is that the size of the internal stomach and metabolic rate are the two key components here. Obviously, Fat Harry possesses a massive outer stomach, but may not have quite the internal capacity of a smaller guy. Derrick has the genetic advantage in being able to process the food quicker and with a stomach that is much larger than normal, three times the normal size according to x-rays.

         Derrick briefly considered explaining all this to Fat Harry, but thought it might seem like bragging. Derrick was a survivor that tried to avoid confrontation with oversized men.

         He had two minutes and a few bites left to go. There was no nausea yet, but his stomach did feel it was expanded well beyond capacity. He wondered if he might look like Fat Harry someday, plump and disgusting. He kept a strict exercise regimen to avoid such a bodily catastrophe. Still, he thought, someday he might have to give up this glamorous lifestyle for health reasons.

         “Why do you do this to yourself?” A woman’s voice asked from behind. She walked around to the front of the table to face him.

         “I guess I’m just trying to avoid going to college,” he told her. A smile wasn’t possible right now. He managed something that came close to a grin.

         “This is a painful way to avoid getting an education.” She sounded sorry for him, which he appreciated. She had short brown hair that was comforting to him. Her smile gleamed with red lipstick.

         “Don’t worry about him. I think he’s through,” she said, pointing at Fat Harry, he was resting his head on the table and holding his stomach tight. He looked as if he was desperate to keep the food down. He picked his head up and shoveled another bite into his mouth. He couldn’t chew, his desire to compete obviously disintegrated.

         Derrick shoveled the last of his brisket in, chewing slowly but never stopping. Some people in the crowd cheered, some of them mumbled about losing their bets. People can’t afford to bet on these things during a recession. People needed to bet on sensible things like horse racing and football games in tough times.

         “You were here to witness history,” he told the brown haired girl. “I just have to keep it down twenty minutes.”

         “Some of those guys over there might have something to say about your immediate physical health.” She pointed to a booth in the corner with red vinyl seats and a blue table. Two beasts in denim overalls sat over there. They looked at Derrick as if they might have lost their entire life savings on this bet. They came across as guys that would beat someone down over fifty cents.

         Danny, the owner, came over to give what Derrick assumed would be congratulations. “That’s the most unnatural, bizarre, outright freak of nature thing I ever saw, and I been to a lot of circuses boy,” he said, pointing at the now incapacitated Fat Harry. “He outweighs you by a hundred pounds boy. Hell, they created the buffet line for guys like Harry.”

“Leave him alone, he still has to keep it down,” the brown haired woman said. “What do you get for all this pain anyhow stranger?”

“My names Derrick, and to answer your question—I get a t-shirt and a free meal.” He pointed at the wall where the t-shirts hung from hangers. The shirts were yellow with red pigs on the front bearing the name: FAT PIGGY in big, black letters. He guessed all the shirts were XXX in size at the minimum.

         Almost on cue, Danny walked over to the wall and retrieved a Fat Piggy shirt for Derrick. He sat it on the table. “If you puke I get this back boy. But you aren’t going to do that are you? I bet you could have eaten another pound or two.”

         Derrick shook his head yes, “I’ve ate more if you want to know the truth.”

         “Well then you’re a national treasure worth preserving. I’ll try to get you out of here alive. Don’t hate me if I can’t,” Danny told him bluntly, while leaning in close.

         Derrick wondered how many unfortunate power eaters might be buried around this place, victims of angry gamblers. “Do you have a plan?” He asked

         Danny leaned in even closer than before. Both realized this must look suspicious to everyone. “Simple,” he whispered. “I just got to get an ambulance here, tell them they need to pump your stomach. If we can keep these animals off you for a few minutes you might have a chance.”

         “Its’ a solid plan,” brown haired girl agreed. She was hunched down low beside Danny as if she might be the one in trouble.

         “Gertrude I told you no interference. This has got to go right or we’ll be getting questions from state police for the next twenty years,” Danny grunted. It was obvious Gertrude made him impatient.

         Under normal circumstances Derrick would have made a joke about the name Gertrude. Now he understood why she didn’t offer her name after he gave his.

         Two unhappy looking truckers walked up and sat at the table. “Boy I think we been cheated somehow,” one of them said. He had a Texas accent and green hat that said “Kiss the Chef.”

         “What do you mean sir?” Derrick asked.

Gertrude stood and kept stepping back until she was out of sight.

         “I mean a shit stain like you eatin’ all that without some kind of special dope or something, Texas trucker snapped off, trying to make some attempt to be an authority figure.

         “Amazing things come in small packages sir. Look how small nuclear bombs are these days. They can fit one into a toaster.”

         “Are you threatening to blow us up boy?” the other stranger asks. “I think you might be an Al-Qaeda terrorist sent here to infiltrate good American eating establishments.” This guy was a big, clean-shaven man with no obvious tattoos. Derrick wondered what profession this man might be in.

          Texas trucker says, “Do you see any track marks on him Richie? This boy has to be on something; if he’s on something that’s cheating. It’s the same thing as a damned Olympic athlete shootin’ up a bunch of steroids and swimming the forty meter.”

         “Are you on any enhancement dope boy?” the clean cut one asks.

         “Answer him. You know cheating means you cover the bets of the people you ripped off,” Texas trucker said before Derrick could get a word in. Derrick wondered if Danny called the ambulance already, or if he was just floating the idea out there.

         “This isn’t the Olympics and do I look like I’m on steroids to you?” Derrick told them impatiently. He knew they weren’t serious. They were just looking for a way to score their money back without having to fight some of the other truckers that were equal in size. It was bit flattering that some of the heathens in here actually put some money down on him. If anything America is a nation of gamblers.

         “You are skinny, but they got all kinds of steroids, just as many varieties as candy bars.” Texas trucker argues. Derrick wanted to know who the mysterious “they” was that always appeared in ridiculous conversations.

         “Boys this is a non-violent type of competition,” Danny injected. “This kid here has talent, not like LeBron James, but you know what I mean.”

         “You bet against me and lost and now you want me to cover your bets. Am I getting this straight?” Derrick asked both truckers in a harsh tone.

         The truckers exchanged confused looks. The clean cut trucker starts to say something then decides he better let his leader do all the talking.

         Texas trucker starts to speak in a less friendly tone now, “It seems to me and my buddy Ray that you didn’t win this competition with any kind of fairness; that means you owe good folks their money back boy. On top of all that you put Fat Harry at medical risk. He ate more than he should have.”

         Derrick looked over at Fat Harry. He was still slumped over the table, looking as if he might actually need medical attention. He wasn’t endangered by a long shot. If anything, Fat Harry’s kind were too plentiful on this earth.

         “Let me talk some sense into this kid,” Danny said, putting his hand on Derrick’s shoulder. “I might be able to recover some of your money, and mine, if I talk to him nice like.”

         “Alright,” Texas trucker answers. “I believe parking lots are for kickin’ ass, so I better not see your boy running through it.”

         “Come on kid, get up,” Danny said. He rubbed the sweat from his bald head onto his already filthy apron.

         Derrick stood up without question. He started following Danny towards the kitchen.

         “And Danny,” Texas trucker yells. “Don’t let me hear about you giving this boy any money. You’re a hard working man.”

         Danny leads Derrick through the crowd of power eater groupies and generalized riff-raff that have come to patronize this eating competition. He’s used to the shady scene. At a Buffalo wing eating contest in Cleveland they actually busted a wanted bank robber out in the crowd. It was a food festival; combined with eating competitions so over two thousand people had shown up with their taste buds on red alert. The guy must have thought his cowboy hat was a suitable disguise, or he was just a Buffalo wing addict unable to help himself. 

         The kitchen is active with cooks and dishwashers frying, grilling and spraying everything in sight.

         “You think those guys are serious?” Derrick asks with a broad smile.

         “Yeah I do,” Danny says with a worried look on his face. Danny always looked worried, so Derrick didn’t have to be concerned. “We need to find a way out of this situation kid.”

         “Cincinnati was worse. I know I told you about that.”

         “You told me they had to bring in the special riot police with their paddy wagons and plastic shields,” Danny responded. He was smiling now but his body was still tight. He had hoped to avoid these kinds of situations when he opened the new place up.

         “Yeah they did. I’m lucky I got out of there without being in a body bag or handcuffs.”

         “Alright kid, time is urgent. Those kind gentlemen aren’t going to wait long. We need a plan.” Danny gestured toward the swinging kitchen doors with all four fingers.

         “I have two plans; one of them profitable and one of them safe.”

         Danny nodded, “OK, I’m still a business man.”

         “Alright,” Derrick continued. “We go out there and try to get these guys to double down on a new bet, say I eat three one pound cheese burgers in thirty minutes or so. You can even bring the scale out here and let them check the weight.” Derrick pointed at the food scale behind Danny.

         “You can put it down?” Danny looked amazed, but he had seen Derrick consume more.

         “Yeah, but you got to get the money up front. These ass holes aren’t going to pay a nickel afterwards. They might even say I’m on steroids again, which is why this is risky.”

         “And your second plan?” Danny asked, not near as interested.

         “I take off out the back door. Even if those guys are for real, which is unlikely, they would never be able to find me. I got my car a half mile down the road, behind that abandoned gas station with the old pumps.”

         “What about me?” Danny aimed both thumbs at his chest.

         “Tell them I hit you, or I bolted out the door. Who cares? You still got that M-16 back there in the office I assume. That gun would work well with plan A or B.”

         “Yeah, I planned on getting rid of that once the world became a better place.” Danny rolled his eyes as if to say that’ll be the day.

         “Are you with me?” Derrick asked, letting out a massive belch.

         “I just hope they don’t ask you to eat French fries with this deal.”

         “No worries. Just remember to collect the money. I want some gain for my pain.” Derrick rubbed his thumb in his index and middle finger right in Danny’s face trying to stress his point. He really hoped he could get this food down. He didn’t think he could run right now. Derrick was tempted to tell Danny to load that M-16. But he really believed those truckers were a tad bit more peaceful than they let on.



---

They were both smiling which was good, but that wasn’t an answer. “Ok,” Texas trucker finally said. His clean cut buddy didn’t seem too sure, but stayed silent. “Danny you fry them patties up nice and greasy the way real Americans like ’em. You might call Guinness Book of World Records while you’re in there. Hell, call the National Guard they might want to watch.”

         The money was collected now so Derrick just had to concentrate on doing his job. If he got these burgers down, it would be a near personal record, almost ten pounds of food with all the toppings. He wondered if Danny had stocked up on toilet paper.

         The minutes past and he got a second wind. He had consumed the first burger and was mostly through the second. The two truckers said nothing. They were just watching their money disappear with every bite.

         The crowd of over fifty cheered as he tackled the third burger. His stomach ached horribly. Mixing the two meats must have done that, still, hamburgers were his specialty.

         He finished the last bight, his face, hands and shirt covered in mustard and ketchup. Danny told him it made the food go down easier, but Derrick didn’t care to believe that with his shirt a mess.

         His mind bathed in the cheer of the crowd. He wondered if this was what real athletes felt after victory. Gertrude was in the front of the crowd and Derrick thought he could say that name over and over. She would have to put up with his nasty eating habits though.



END