Eli: Out to Lunch
It was a sunny day, and a gentle breeze was blowing. As Eli Stram strolled casually down the street, the breeze reached him. It blew through his hair, sending flecks of grease into the face of the woman walking behind him.
Eli was in a good mood, but he was hungry. Very hungry. In fact, he hadn't eaten a thing for the past six hours. No, come to think of it, he had wolfed down that bag of pork rinds at work. That's right – Eddie had lent him the money. Still, he needed something to eat.
He burped.
He looked around, trying to find some place where he could get a decent meal. The deli? Nah. He still owed the manager for those porno tapes. Wouldn't be right to go in there unless he planned on paying the guy back. The health food store? Fuggetaboutit. Health food is gay and tastes like old shoes and it's just a bunch of vegetables and crap. Maybe KFC. Yeah, that sounded good. KFC. He closed his eyes and pictured it: A big, steaming carton of popcorn chicken, with crumbs spilling over the sides… In his imagination, he cracked a piece open. Tender white meat – okay, most of it was kind of gray – crispy golden breading…
Eli opened his eyes just in time to see the eighteen-wheeler swerving sharply to the left, the driver leaning out the window and waving his fist. No, not his fist; he had one finger sticking up.
"Fuckin' faggot," Eli mumbled.
But as he got to thinking, it hit him. He had almost gotten hit by a freakin' truck, man. Well, it wasn't his fault. How was he supposed to know what was in that doobie? And anyway, he was hungry. It's easy to get distracted when you're hungry.
He suddenly stopped walking and looked around. It seemed he had been going in the wrong direction. He was, let's see… about four miles from KFC. Fuckin' gay. Oh hell, wasn't there a McDonald's around here somewhere?
* * *
Eli walked into the McDonald's. He looked around. Was it just him, or did everyone in this restaurant look like they were on crack? Or retarded, or something. His armpit itched. Standing in the door, he peeled his shirt up from his waist and reached underneath. Aaaaah. That felt good. He scratched again. The scent of old garlic wafted up to his nostrils. He pulled his hand back out and saw that it was covered with wet yellow stuff. He wiped it on his boxers.
Speaking of which – when was the last time he had changed his underwear? Monday? No, it was earlier than that. Fuck, it made his head hurt trying to remember stuff.
He walked up to the counter and order a whopper. The dumb bitch must not have heard him, or something, 'cause she asked him to repeat himself. So he did. She asked him again. He shouted it, blowing spit all over her face.
"Sir, I may have to ask you to leave."
He went to the girl next to her. She was kind of hot. He wiped the spittle off his lip and order a whopper (again).
Five minutes later he was sitting down. Some gay-ass guy was sitting in the booth he had wanted, so he had to take a fuckin' gay chair. It sucked ass. He peeled back the wrapping on the burger and sniffed. It smelled like armpits or something. What the… oh, right. He leaned back in his chair and was about to put his feet up on the table when he felt a sharp pain in his left pinky toe. He tapped his foot on the ground, and felt it again.
He pulled off his shoe and sock and examined. Eew, there was a bump on his toe. Must have been a corn or something. Gross.
He put his shoe back on and had a sip of his coke. It was a little watery, but not too bad. Better than the time he had ejaculated into his cup and not noticed. Or maybe he had noticed, but was too stoned to care. Whatever.
Eli picked up the burger and took a big bite.
Disgusting! He spit it on to the floor and took a swig of coke. Ugh. He glanced over at the fries he had ordered, but decided not to take the chance. If it was anywhere near as bad as that burger…
What the fuck do they put in those things, anyway? he wondered as he walked out of the restaurant. It had tasted like rat shit, or something. Not that he had ever eaten rat shit. Come to think of it, what did rat shit taste like? Probably not too bad. Had anybody ever eaten rat shit? No. Of course not. So how would they know what it tasted like? Simple. They wouldn't. So as far as Eli was concerned, rat shit tasted pretty fuckin' good. Which meant, of course, that the burger he had just eaten did not, in fact, taste like rat shit. Interesting.
Eli had to stop thinking about this, because his head was starting to hurt again. That usually happened when he thinked.
* * *