It's Not Easy Being a Green, Slimy Blob

By Josh Hornbeck

Can I be honest for a minute? I know it may seem like I’m completely sure of myself – I do tend to come across with a certain amount of confidence and pride – but the truth is, I’m a just gelatinous mass of insecurity and disappointment. As I look at my life I have to accept the fact that I’m not the man I always hoped I would be. When I was a kid, I had all these plans and dreams and goals. I knew exactly who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. But life has a way of changing on you, doesn’t it? I mean one day you’re packing on a few extra pounds and the next you’re devouring entire cities in a mindless rage. Shit happens, right? I mean, it isn’t like becoming a fat disgusting blob fit into my five year plan. There are some things you just can’t prepare for.

The villagers are brandishing their pitchforks and lighting their torches outside. They’re just waiting to strike first and ask questions later. But have they ever once thought about what it’s like to be me? Huh? Have they? It isn’t as if I like being a blob. Do you know how lonely it can get when you’re green, slimy, and rounder than the Pillsbury Dough Boy? I can’t even find a date. Every time I’m out with a girl my appetite cranks up and I start gorging myself on junk food – wildlife, pets, small children. I totally disgust every woman I’m with. Or I just eat them.

I guess all the townsfolk chanting “Kill him! Kill him!” have a point, don’t they? I don’t have anything to offer a woman. It isn’t like girls grow up and dream about marrying the blob next door. They all want doctors or lawyers – even video store clerks are a step up from me.

Wait a minute. I really need to stop the pity party. If I hadn’t devoured my therapist, he probably would have said I was stuck inside another self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean really, who cares if my job prospects aren’t so hot? If you’d just take the time to get to know me a little better you might find something soft and lovable inside. Of course, you may find flesh-peeling stomach acid, but that only happens when I get nervous.

You know, this burning acid thing is all my parents’ fault. I’m surprised they haven’t given me an ulcer yet. I know they mean well, but I am so tired of their constant nagging. “Why can’t you be more like your brothers and sisters? They aren’t blobs. Why can’t you meet a nice girl without eating her?” It isn’t long before they start in about my weight (“Maybe you should lay off the construction workers.”) and my ‘unsuitable’ line of work. “Your brother has a good job – a job that means something. Does being a blob do anything to help society? And how do you plan on starting a family on a blob’s wages anyway?” They’ve cut me out of all the family pictures. Mom keeps threatening to disinherit me if I eat another relative, no matter how obnoxious they are.

Damn it! I’m doing it again. I just need to stop. All this self-pity’s making me hungry. And if I’m going to start making positive choices in my life, I need to develop a little self-control. Although... I know I shouldn’t eat after seven, but I wonder if the mob’s big enough yet for a decent midnight snack?

(Posted 11/4/2009)