Vignette: Why I don't do Dinner Parties

MULESGIVING

HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y'ALL!

Originally Published September 30,  2006

I arrived at the parent's house of one of my friends round 4:00 in the afternoon. His mother and father were hosting a dinner party of sorts for their son (my friend) who recently made the family proud by earning a prestigious award from our school. Many of his close relatives were in attendance for the joyous celebration, including his elderly grandmother, the guest of honor. Normally I wouldn't be caught dead going to something like this but free food can sometimes fuck up my better judgment. 

As I entered living room I was amazed to see like twenty well dressed people in attendance, many in suits. My friend briskly introduced me, which caused a quiet stir regarding my apparel - a cut-off sleeve shirt replete with protein shake stains, bolstered by greasy sweat pants and white, Payless brand shoes. I compensated by performing an awe-inspiring lat spread for all to admire.  A few of the gentlemen were sporting boners and several of the ladies looked like they were getting moist.

Shortly thereafter we were all seated for the main course - a delightful roast of Eastern European Dove battered in Romanian tomato sauce, or some such shit. After a grueling 20 rep squat workout, I was ready to chow down a flock of them fucking pigeons. 

As chance would have it, I was seated next to the grandmother of the family, the royal matriarch who was well nie one hundred and forty-two years of age. I was struck by the glaring similarity she possessed to the personage of one Bilbo Baggins. She could not have stood more than two and one-half feet tall, although her glory days of standing were well over. She was solely relegated to a small wheelchair, customized with gaudy, brass-encrusted 22's. Rollin' on dubs, that ol' hen was. She emitted a foul-smelling residue that hinted of cottage cheese and Tabasco sauce. Her voice cracked and sputtered like the rusty confines of an engine struggling to start. A thoroughly stinky little critter, she was. 

As we proceeded to dine, the little creature made valiant but futile attempts at striking conversation with me. I politely responded to her questions, and flashing the obligatory double bi for her to ponder over After ten minutes of conversation, I grew weary of her incessant voice, and, concealed by the boisterous conversations ensuing to either side of me, quietly told her to "Shut the fuck up or I will END  you." 

Her voice soon ceased to be heard. Although I was enjoying the dishes and the sight of my friend's mother's tender breasts baking in the sublime light cast by the overhead chandelier, something seemed amiss. Soon I realized that food was beginning to disappear on my plate. As I pondered my predicament, I quickly realized that it was the little varmint sitting next to me who was to blame for the stealing of my sustenance. When my eyes were cast elsewhere, I noticed that the foul insect would quietly snag food from my plate and bring it to hers. 

Enraged that this little crusty demon would have the audacity to steal food from me during a bulking cycle, I resolved to take action. I decided that I would be responsible and mature about how would deal with the situation, noting that it would be disrespectful for me to cause a scene as a guest in another man's house. 

So, I leaned toward the little creature, and stealthily JABBED MY FORK INTO HER OFFENDING HAND. 

"Damn you bitch! How dare you sass me!"

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She screamed in terror and fell backwards from her wheelchair. Not one to take shit from elderly women, I immediately pounced on her and put a fat rear naked choke on her ass. By this time every person had pranced from their seats and were taking hostile action against me. Four men ripped me from the elderly lady before I put her to sleep, Matt Hughes style. 

I fought the men off and made my way to the front door amid screams and curses. As the old hamster lay bleeding and dazed on the carpet, my friend stood sobbing, trying to calm everyone down. As I left the house, the last thing I heard him screaming was "He was on a bulking cycle! A bulking cycle! He had no other choice!" 

I am now back home and still continuing to deal with the victimization that confronted me. I pray that I will not have to face off against that elderly little rat in the near future.