CHAPTER 1 My

life is not so much a life, as a series of awkwardnesses.

I'm The Pretty Pie Girl. I'm The Pretty Pie Girl, the TV blares her chipmunk voice as she waltzes with a chocolate cookie. Her adorable face sirens, You're my Ookie Ookie Cookie. Computer generated smile happier than human. She's a pie with tiny gloved arms, and booted legs. She twirls. You're my Ookie Ookie Cookie. Her dark partner croons in lowest bass, I'm your Ookie Ookie Cookie. I select a box from the cupboard, The Hexachocolator, a six sided cake with six kinds of chocolate. In bright yellow letters it proclaims, Zero Grams Trans Fat. The giggling pie slides down the side of the bowl, and shouts to the world, Kooky Cookies are part of a nutritious breakfast, and splashes into the milk. Crack two eggs. Use olive oil not grease. The box says one cup, but use half. One cup, that's crazy. Beat the mix with wooden spoon. The real children, one fifth as cartoonish, bang their silver to the musical and chant, Ookie Ookie Cookie! How many impressionable minds watch this whorescrappening? Ookie ookie cookie! A woman's voice says, Capsulsgrave Confections are made by mothers, for mothers. The Pie Girl squeaks the last word, For the love of food. The commercial is over. The volume drops to inaudible. We now continue with our regular programming. Pour batter into stainless steel bowl. Bake at 375. Go upstairs. Barry is on his bed, so fat he struggles not to roll off. I feel skinny by comparison, lithe and fierce, like a tiger. Lie on my bed. Open the logic puzzle magazine. Draw chart in bent spiral pad, low on blue ink, which makes solving puzzle too easy. Bored. Get up. What can I say to Barry? Good luck with your operation? He's so fat, they have to cut his legs off at the knees. He's going to be in a wheelchair. I will not end up like him. I will eat normal portions. It's not that hard. Work out an hour a day. No seconds.

Get off bed. Good luck with your operation. He says Thank you, between breaths, oxygen hose in nostril. Look down at my coat at the bottom of the winding banister. Burt is in my pocket stealing a cigarette. Go to office and tell Diane, perfect face and body, no chance she would ever want me. Staff can't date residents, but even if they could, she wouldn't. Her baby doll eyes, button nose, and puckering lips tell me, Official West House policy is not to leave things out. Sit on couch in TV-room to fill out an application for the Office of Disabled Services, so I can go to school. Pat sits on the other couch with blond French poodle hair, and smokes, every so often turning her head to the side and back, like a chicken. Oh boy, here we go: ETHNIC GROUP. They don't even ask name first. Two boxes--one for white, one for black. Draw my own box, up and to the left, and check it. Pat snores. Cigarette in mouth burning. PAT. Nothing. PAT! Huh? What? Your cigarette. Thank you. She taps off the ash, turns her head, and puffs. Second question-Age. Write fast and legible, 40. Third question-Describe how your disability prevents you from working? You're asking me? Ask the doctors; they have file cabinets full. It's hard to put in words. I think and think. Crumple paper in ball, and throw in basket. Nice shot. JORDAN! Step out for air. The guys are smoking. Davey is squatted down with his back against the side of the house. He can stay like that comfortably for a long time, because he's skinny. If I tried, my legs would snap. A rollie burns between his blackened fingers, he spits mucus on the blacktop between his legs. Isn't he disgusted? Spit to the side, numb nuts. Burt has a long handlebar mustache and bushy black hair. He smiles and says, What's up, man? He talks funny. Tall strong Dennis offers me a Red Pyramid 100. Thanks Dude. I don't buy cigarettes. It helps me cut down. It tastes awful, cheap, and mostly cardboard. Chubby cheeks Nate says, He just mooches off of other people. Burt and Pretty Tony laugh.

Burt hesitates when he talks,I got fie women in Canton Ohio. He has trouble pronouncing certain sounds. Pretty Tony raps, I can get you ho's. His camel face drools, when he laughs and grins. Nate chuckles, and Davey guffaws. Nate and Tony stop, but Davey is still belly laughing. He is a boyish forty. His voice is slow, pleasant, and rhythmic, God bless you, Fox. How are you, Dave? Oh, fine. Fine. Fine. What you up to? Vivian kicked me in the butt. I see. You shaved. Trimmed Miss Martha's bushes yesterday. His face brightens, Oh, Miss Martha is a pretty girl. He giggles and mumbles unintelligible syllables as he brings his face into my face. I back up. Don't spit in my face. She gave me five dollars. I hope you invested it wisely. I got these and a pop. So, what are your plans for today? Oh, Nuthin. Nuthin. Why does everyone keep saying that? Nuthin. What ya doin? Nuthin. What's new? Nuthin. He smokes more than anyone would possibly need to. Shouldn't criticize. The fingers closest to the cigarette are stained darkest. Same pattern on his teeth. Got to quit. His father told him to stop for years, then died from lung cancer. You could say it matters, you could say it doesn't. Is one death better than another? Why live at all? Loucarla comes out the screen door. Pretty. Petite. Farm girl. Blue jeans. Mane of bangs and curls. No chance with her either. She announces, Dinner, in Snowchester accent. In Snowchester, they say Snowchester in one syllable, Snochstr, I'm from Snochstr. Are you from Snochstr? Dennis has a deep voice. Kiss it.

Pretty Tony says, Bust dat out da frame. Burt pronounces certain words funny, I hae a gir-frien in Can-ton O-hi-o. The cake! Run in, and take it out. Just right. Dump it on a platter. It comes out in a perfect steaming dome. Cut it into two, four, eight, sixteen pie slices. Place it in the center of the long dining room table. Get a good seat. Survey the room. This house is a mansion. rooms. Fancy moldings. Ornate ceiling ridges ripple around crystal chandelier with four energy saver bulbs. A hundred ago, one super rich guy had all this for himself. Now it's home. Huge the real years a group

The whole neighborhood was super rich. Each mansion had a whole block of land for itself. Over the years, smaller houses were built in between. But it's still nice, and even the regular houses qualify as mansions. Ten people sit on each side. Rich, the director, tall, with black hair and beard, says, A secret Manicotti family recipe. Pat asks, You made the lasagna, Rich? It's good. Burt says, Very . . . good, Richhh. Pretty Tony, next to me, glances at Loucarla and whispers, I tapped dat in the phone room. He smiles big. Went right up to her and pulled down her pants. He isn't serious; I don't think. I say to Loucarla, The tuna is delicious. Thank you. The trick is fresh garlic. . . The hot dogs have half the fat. Morality compels me to speak, And what about carcinogens? Do they have half the carcinogens? The table gets quiet. Bingo. Burt says, Car-in-o-gen. I hold up an invisible pack, and say loud and sarcastic, Hello. Carcinogens. . . Sodium Nitrite, Sodium Nitrate. I rest my case. Hot dogs don't cause cancer, says Hippo slow with his big round face. Pat clucks, I'm going to be sick. Burt says, Say goo'night. Rich says, The hot dogs are fine. They're the best, Roscoe Mueller. Say no more, not to make a scene, but sneer. Oh no. They wouldn't put anything bad in something people eat. Lindsay says, Do you freak out every time you eat? and giggles. An attractive girl is talking to me and smiling. Has to be a set up.

An attractive girl is talking to me and smiling. Has to be a set up. She lures me back to her room, then her boyfriend jumps me. Why even hope? No attractive woman is into fat guys. Well not every time. Well pretty much, yea. Most times. She stares, eyes grinning. Probably a few times I didn't. We take a few bites. Scones are evil. Fruits and vegetables are good, as long as they're organic, otherwise they're evil. Cake, meat, anything that tastes good, is evil. Boring is good. Oatmeal. So pretty much everything causes cancer. She laughs. Hydrogenated oil is heart attacks, but yes. Hot dogs, cold cuts, fruits with pesticides, anything plastic, and of course coffee stirrers. Coffee stirrers? Well yeah, think about it, you put a strip of plastic into piping hot liquid and swirl it around. Do you have any idea how many thousands of carcinogens leech into the coffee? A lot. They wouldn't use harmful substances. I get louder, You would think! Sounds like a good rule. DEATH TAKE ME NOW! . . . Are you kidding me? Please tell me you're kidding. They don't care if they kill people. They only care about one thing She cuts me off, Follow the money. Yes. I chuckle. Loucarla can't see Pretty Tony thrust his hips like Michael Jackson. I look at him skeptical. He laughs. Crude manners. No one else notices. What they don't tell you, is to dial 9-1-, then take a bite, and then dial the last 1. Pretty Tony, interjects in Reggae beat, Birds...drop-ping... from da sky. It's a pyramid scheme. The dollar bill, a pyramid. They're all in on it. Pat asks, Foxavier, do you want fries? Shouldn't, but take some. Don't do evil. It tastes good. You'll feel sick after. I feel sick now. Try not to take too many. Burt pushes the mashed potatoes towards Ralph, who has a David Niven mustache, No, you finish your ve-ta-ble. Ralph smiles, pushes the plate back, and says in strong Indian accent, Have some more potatoes. You're a growing boy. Burt, You-r a gro-ing bo-y. . . I don't want any more, Ralph. I had a whole bag of chi-ps. He always has a large bag of tortilla chips with him. Ralph could be a serial killer. It would be the perfect opportunity, a counselor in a group home. No proof, just a hunch.

Barry slowly pulls his clunky oxygen tank cart, and is last to sit. No seconds. He sits and says, It looks good, and crosses himself. Sonny, in her seventies, takes a bite of my cake and says, Mondays at six, talking about her free painting class. She's not shaking. Her face is asleep. Her body drops. Pat calls out, Oh! Dennis and I look at each other. Then he stands up. Nate is still chomping down mashed potatoes. Everyone gathers around, and Rich tells us not to touch her, and calls 911. Pat says, Don't worry Sonny. We stare. Diane takes everyone in the backyard. The ambulance transports her unconscious. She's lucky we're so close to University Hospital.
Did Sonny have a stroke? It couldn't be the cake. The box said, Zero grams trans fat. Get it out of the trash. See, Zero grams trans fat per serving. Per serving? Why is 'per serving' in small letters? Read the ingredients: Water, bromated flour, hydrogenated rapeseed oil! Hydrogenated rapeseed oil? Those sneaky bastards. It was the cake. Read the word hydrogenated one more time.

After dinner a bunch of us sneak out the bedroom window and sit on the roof. Rich would have a fit, if he caught us. It's a mild summer. The night sky is clean. The stars are clear. Dennis looks like Hank Hill, a big dude with square crew cut. I was stationed in Germany. Nate rolls a cigarette. His voice is deep too, but not as. You was in Germany? Dennis smiles and giggles, I was in Germany for three years, and I was married for a year and a half. I say, Cool. Did you see any combat? Dennis says, Dude, this was 1980. Chuckles. Peace time. Nate puts it in his mouth, and asks, Does anyone got a light? Dennis immediately lights him. You asked the right person. Three packs a day. His eyebrows go up and he laughs. Nate takes the first drag, then says, Never married. No kids, Free agent. He laughs, then takes another drag fast, and hands it to Dennis, who says, Kiss it. Nate asks me, How about you? What about me? He and Tony laugh. Pretty Tony translates, Do you have a woman? Not really. I turn to Dennis. Did you see any interesting action in Germany? He answers, I was a mechanic. I saw a lot of grease.

Nate says, I know that's right. Bet. Pretty Tony says, I bet you saw some action when you was married. Dennis breaks a smile. Pretty Tony takes a drag, then states with confidence,Pimps up. Ho's down. How do you even respond to something so backward? Shake my head. He laughs, You're problem is you need some pussy clop. He's right, but I don't agree with his terminology. Meanwhile the cigarette is burning down. Nate says, Are you going to pass that thing? We all laugh, because we were all thinking the same. Baby face Nate chuckles deep, and passes to Burt. Pretty Tony says to Nate, I know you get some. Nate says, I get more than some. Tony, I know you do. Nate, What about you. Tony, I give all my money to ho's. Nate chuckles. Burt takes a long drag, coughs it out, sour face. I... got... my gir'friend...in Can-ton O-hio. His boyish face smiles. He has bed hair. Dennis says, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and my wife left me. I take as big a drag as I can, and pass it to Tony. Dennis says, Intercourse, and chuckles. Nervous about getting caught. I'm going back in. Pretty Tony tells me, They ain't gonna do nuthin, as I climb back in. Burt says, Say goo'night. Brush teeth. Hear Ralph downstairs announce, MED-I-CA-TION! Hurry down to beat the rush. Hippo comes up, so big I look like a troll. I was here first. Say nothing. My place, he says with his big dumb face. Obviously not. He yells at maximum volume, his whole head red,I WAS HERE FIRST! Everybody looks. Let him go, just to be the bigger man. This isn't the money line, jackass; it's for medication. Guess he needs his. Can you blame him for being raised a pig? Take two green and yellow capsules, Noeffenwayazil, just featured on the front page of The New York Times, The New Miracle Drug!

Read the ingredients of the cake mix again. It's hard to focus my eyes that small, but I can make it out, Water, Bromated Flour-- How can water be the first ingredient for a dry mix? There it is: Hydrogenated rapeseed oil, a code name for trans fat. How can they say, Zero Grams Trans Fat, if it has trans fat? Rich makes an announcement, Guys, I have some sad news to report. Sonny passed away. I'm a murderer. A person is dead, because I didn't have a microscope on me, when I was selecting a box from the shelf. Life is an ocean of sorrow and I don't have a paddle. Oh the bastardtution of my birth. The devil wants me to think evil thoughts, but reject them. Fugtropolous. Reject them. Dirty. Everything is dirty, the whole world, soil, the thing rich people fight over, without which nothing could grow, composed of corpses and manure. You can't get away from it. It's everywhere. You might as well lick the floor. Life is dirty. The earth is dirt. It's not necessarily meant as an insult. The Earth will burn, I mean that in the best possible way. Stinking, filthronicus, filthitution, lousy nippin', jiskertutional, son of a spuchite sometimes just can't make up words filthy enough to express the utter lowliness, the destitution, the unbearable darkness of being. It's not even them, it's me. Angry at the world. Angry at me. Just angry, afraid, and sad. Don't want to be. Next morning rise and take shower. For some strange reason can't ejaculate. Give up after twenty minutes. Descend the stairs. Theresa cheers, Yippie. We're going to Schwegman's. Rich counts the people, twenty, plus three staff. He drives the van. Theresa sits in front. Three people per seat in the back. Diane takes another load in her car. We, a pack of special people, are set loose among The Consumers. Schwegman's is the Disneyland of supermarkets. Imagine fifty gourmet stores put together, for movie stars. Imagine a Wal-Mart for food. Imagine every kind of restaurant you can think of, all under one roof. Imagine the biggest fish market you ever saw, next to a line of salad bars, as far as the eye can see. They've got a pet store with a row of beauty salon chairs, dogs and cats sitting under hair dryers, while their nails are manicured. Too many kinds of bakeries to name. A car dealership and repair station. Fifty sushi chefs, lined up behind a counter the length of a football field, sing and chop in rhythm, while the wall behind them does a light show. I feel funny paying seven dollars in food stamps for a small sushi plate that's only going to last about two minutes, but it's so good, and it's healthy. I should learn how to roll my own. By the time you buy all the ingredients, and chop them up, it's not worth it. If I make a big batch, I'll eat it too fast. Remember: Stock up on fruits and vegetables, but not too much, because it goes bad, and you'll have to throw out half a cabbage. Buy a wedge of Stilton. Just what you plan to eat in one sitting. A whole aisle just for cat food. Buy meat, but not too much. Too many choices. A whole aisle for bottled water.

Theresa is in the paper towel aisle, her face up against a wall of napkins. Everything looks good. Don't buy too much. My budget is eight dollars a day, but I already have fifty in my cart. Everywhere you turn- gourmet cooking demonstrations and free samples. In the middle of the blue cheese aisle, a performance of Romeo and Juliet. Want to eat everything. Feel bad I can't. Have to choose. Yogurt has good bacteria, but a single is so small I can finish it in my mind, before my hand can grab it. Pretty Tony is at the little McDonald's. I say, We're at Schwegman's, man. You can get any kind of specialty food in the world, and you're eating here? Niggaz don't eat specialty food. He takes a plastic tray with burger, fries, and soda. I know what I like. Sit with him a minute, then shop more. Where else can you find a three ounce loaf of millet/hemp bread cooked by real monks in Uganda? It comes in a burlap sack, so you know it's authentic. Twenty dollars? The great whore of stores. A sign of the end times. An abomination. Overload. Read the labels on everything first. If it has the word hydrogenated, don't get it. Put it back on the shelf with the ingredients facing out, so people can be warned. Don't forget the budget. Remember, I have to walk an hour to burn one cookie. Not worthy of love, unless have six-pack abs. Feel bad because it will all be gone by tonight. If I can just stick to an impossible diet for a year, then I won't be disgusting. Once they remove the excess skin. It must be nice, being one of those people, who already is okay. Why do I have to exert such effort, while others look good without having to do anything? Some people aren't meant to be happy. I don't want to be one. Why did You curse me? Is this a test? How long will the test go on? Did I do something bad in a previous life? They sure don't make it easy trying to read the ingredients. They print the letters so small, I have to strain my eyes. They purposely used red letters on a pink background to make it hard to read, because they don't want people to know. So many hot successful women in here, it's pathetic. Don't get bitter, when their eyes shoot out Don't bother me rays. Thin people think they're superior. One day, justice. The law will require skinny women to date fat men. They don't have the right to think fat people are disgusting. Their cruelty is disgusting. And stop obsessing about food. Exercise three hours a day. Must try harder. Must be entertaining. Under no circumstances be yourself. When I'm rich and famous people will want to be my friend. Then I'll say, Too late! You had your chance. You mocked me. Now, who's better? Anyone who likes you, because you're famous, isn't your real

better? Anyone who likes you, because you're famous, isn't your real friend anyway, especially me. I'm on to their little game. If there's less than .5 grams trans fat per serving, they can call it zero. You think you're eating nothing, but you're really eating .49 grams. Those dirty bastards. Legally, it's not murder, if you can't prove a specific biscuit caused a specific heart attack, so flood the market with GreesBalz. Poor people can't sue, and it's even harder, when you can't move one side of your body, so poison away. If we're stupid enough to allow this, then we deserve it. Those companies feed off us, but then larger companies feed off of them...so you see: it all works out. A big heart shaped box of chocolates. The wrapper seam conceals the nutritional information. They did that on purpose. This injustice shall not stand. Get the manager. Excuse me. I can't read the ingredients. She can't either, so peels the wrapper off. I say to the cashier, Gee, do you think they have something to hide? The manager hands it to me. I raise my voice, so all the customers can be educated, Thank you. . . . Ah hah! Fractionated Palm Seed Oil! I guess they didn't want anyone to know a SCHWEGMAN'S PRODUCT CAUSES HEART ATTACKS. The cashier looks at the manager. What are we going to do? I'll take it. She reaches in her pocket for change. I wouldn't. Hydrogenated oil. The manager walks away. So, this is what it's like being a nut/pioneer. How else will people learn? The spirit walks me over to the pharmacy. The tall, silver hair man behind the counter stands at attention in white lab coat. You guys have quite a racket here. He says, Excuse me? You sell food with trans fat in the front, and when people have heart attacks, you sell them medicine in the back. He just looks at me. Thank you. I leave. It's my fault for listening to a crazy person. But who says you're crazy? I do. Food does not equal love. You have emotions, you are not your emotions. Men have eating disorders too. I have a big heart, but nobody sees, all they see is a fat guy. Maybe they're right. I'm evil for hating. So stop. People should see my quality. Nobody said anything. You're talking to yourself.

Reading the labels on boxes of tea. This one is high in antioxidants. This one is good for the immune system. Fumble the boxes, try to put them back, but it creates a chain reaction, and the whole wall of tea boxes falls on me. Roll my cart out of the aisle casually. Meet the group at check-out. Diane's perfect legs are highlighted by intricate pattern black lace. Would you mind helping us carry these? I retort, If I do, will you sleep with me? Pretty Tony hears and exclaims, Ha, with big winding grin. She walks away. I know she's getting Rich. Rich says, You're suspended for three days. What do you mean? It means you can't come to the house til Sunday. Where am I supposed to go for three days? Walk away. Into the ice cream aisle. Where the hell am I supposed to go for three days? In the toilet paper aisle. As a kid I used to build forts here. I used to hollow out a cubby hole, like this, and go inside, like this. Then use more to build a door. Happy in my igloo. Free to think my thoughts and be alone with God. They are not doctors. They are not licensed to practice psychiatry in New York State. My life is the worst hell a man can know. No. Remember the wheelchair rule: You're not in a wheelchair, so be happy. I see lady's legs pushing carts by. One takes a pack away from my door. I replace it. She cries with surprise, Wha? The wheels of her cart squeak louder as she hurries away. Soon after, I hear a group talking and approaching. They lift away my door. Two cops, and the store manager. The tall female cop says, Are you having fun in there, buddy? I was til you guys barged in. Alright, let's go. I climb out. Where are we going? As I turn, I see two ambulance drivers, a short woman, and a tall man. Can I buy something first? The short male cop says, No, you can't buy anything. With ambulance and police escort, pass the condiments. If I tried to make a break for it, they would beat me down with relish. As we exit past the registers, I see Rich talking to the store manager, all the people from West House standing together, watching. Pretty Tony holds up his fist and chants, No justice. No peace, as they take me away. Good one.