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Co-Worker Jargon

By DeLeon DeMicoli

“The best way to hook up is to pick up fat chicks at the gay bar,” he said to me. “If you have little or no standards whatsoever, you should have no problem hookin’ up dude. ”

He said, “I do it every weekend.”

He said, “My gay cousin got me hooked on it.”

That was Darnell talking to me at work. Darnell, that missing tooth pile of dog crap. That mullet wearing trailer park living hemorrhoid.

I knew I should’ve never takin’ advice from him. I knew it because everyone in the fast food industry is a piece of shit. They all could’ve been something great. Could’ve all done something special. Some will tell you they were once valedictorian of their high school, were once accepted to some big college to study something great, or were the most popular amongst their classmates. At least that’s what they’ll tell you to make you think they have the wisdom and the answer to any problem you may come across. But, it’s all lies. You don’t get your Masters degree from watching a couple commercials on TV. If they had employee worth dog crap, the award for useless life that couldn’t do any better than work as a fry man, they would have a picture of Darnell. With his work hat on, smiling like a toad thinking it was a great thing to get such recognition for being such an asshole.

This is what I think about as I lay on the hospital bed. This is what comes to mind when I think about what just happened to me and what I’m gonna do to Darnell when I see him next time at work.

Think savagely beating a human to a pulp. Think totally castrating Darnell so he’ll never bring another vicious seed to this planet. Think literally dumping his head into French fry grease and throwing as much salt on him as possible as he screams for dear life.

I can picture it now. It brings a smile to my face. Or at least what I think a smile on my face should look like. Then, it hurts, the pain in my cheek, and before I can recollect anything else, the doctor walks in, so I stop thinking about it and listen. I need to find out what’s wrong with me, why my left arm won’t move. Why I’m urinating into a bag and breathing through a tube. Why every time I make the slightest move, my body twitches like mad before giving out and sending me back to the bed like I’m having convulsions.

All I can think of is Darnell and what I’m gonna do to him, that waste of life.

The doctor says, “You have four broken ribs. You’re arm is fractured in three places. One of your scrotums exploded. The left side of your cheek is fractured.”

He says, “If the ambulance didn’t come sooner, you would’ve bled to death. Suffocated from a pierced lung.

I would say something if I could, but the damn tube stuck down my throat won’t permit me to speak. All I can do is look at the doc and blink, somewhat smile if it actually looked like that.

The doctor says I’m going into surgery shortly. That he’ll fix me up in a jiff, then he walks over to the other side of the bed where a machine is making bleep and bloop sounds. He grabs a little lever and pushes a blue button down.

“A shot of morphine should loosen you up,” he says with a small chuckle. Then, he leaves the room. He leaves me alone. The room starts to spin, flash backs start to shoot in my brain the way POW and BAM shoot out on the television when you’re watching old episodes of Batman. Then, I think about her and what she did to me and how this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t listen to that piece of shit Darnell, and never met a girl named Trina.


He said, “It’s better than porn trust me.”

He said, “At least you’ll get some without any strings attached.”

That’s what Darnell said to me when I told him I wish I had a date. It was when I hadn’t had physical contact with a woman in over a year.

Picture us talking about this while Darnell drops a bag of frozen French fries into the wire basket. Picture me smotherin’ salt all over hot golden French fries without even paying attention to how much I’m putting on.

Think, clogged arteries. Think, if you put this down your throat, you’ll either die from a heart attack on the spot, or puke up the French fries like you’re a newborn. Either way, Darnell or I would have to clean up the mess.

Picture Darnell coughing up something nasty in his hand, then handling the beef for the hamburgers without putting on gloves or washing his hands. I remember once when both of us were in the bathroom that after he took a pee, he didn’t wash his hands, and when I asked him why, you know what he said?

“Hey dude, it’s my shit I don’t care if it absorbs back into my body, and no one else needs to worry cause I‘m clean dude, took a shower this mornin’.”

Anyways, as he coughs, and spits, and picks his nose while making the food, yelling out “Order Up!” He tells me he was once in the same predicament.

He said, “I once had a problem picking up chicks.”

That’s hard to believe. That’s what I told myself when he started to braid his tail from the back of his neck.

“I remember one day my cousin Vinnie called me, and told me he was in town and wanted to hang out. Me and my family never liked talkin’ to him when he came to family gatherings cause he shaked with the left hand if you catch my drift.

I had no clue what he was talking about.

“He works for the Homo-side. Ah... a show tune queen. He’s gay dude. Anyways, he called me up one day and asked me to go out with him to this gay bar. And I was like, dude I ain’t goin’ to no queer factory man. I don’t roll that way dude. But, he kept tellin’ me I had to go. And when he told me why, I actually thought it might be cool.

He said he was meetin’ some other homo there, and that dude was bringin’ a friend, but it was a girlfriend that wanted to come along only if my cousin knew of any straight fellas. So, that’s why he called me.

Vinnie told me that all gay men have a woman as their best friend. That all woman who go to the gay bars only go because they hope to find that one guy who isn’t gay and they could hook up. He said it’s the Cinderella dream. It’s a bad movie on video. ORDER UP! Then, I thought about it, and I figured if I could get a little action from someone who has just as little standards as me, so be it. “So, I went. And let me tell you,” he said, passing burgers through the panel, so the people at the register could snatch them up, “That girl was a huffer. Fuckin’ enormous. That momma probably weighed damn near three hundred pounds. I mean, the girl had rolls on top of rolls. It was disgusting. But, since I’m a good man and don’t judge a book by it’s cover, I decided to go on with it any how, and drank myself stupid. So, at the end of the night when she carried me back to her place drunk enough to be considered a bottle for sale, she threw me on the bed, and bent over, takin’ her pants off. I remember she said somethin’ like if you lay on top of me you’ll never get it in cause no one’s penis is that big, and if I lay on top of you I might kill ya, so just go ahead and go to work. So, I did, and it was great. Never talked to her ever again. Never saw her ever. Nothing attached.

I did it a couple more times after that on my own when I was bored with other fat chicks. I’d just go to the gay bars and get me some lovin’. Ya know what I’m sayin? Now, I do it every weekend cause I’m hooked. I mean, it’s better than being an alcoholic.”

Who couldn’t help but laugh. The picture seems surreal. A fat woman getting reamed by a fast food worker with a mullet. This was when I should’ve laughed about it and left it at that. That’s when I should’ve traded a story with him about another girl and me then went back to work. But, I didn’t. I was desperate. I needed that touch from another woman. That warm feeling of apple pie like the movie.

I should’ve just left it alone. I should’ve just went home and bought another dirty movie on TV, or flipped threw my stash of dirty mags. But, I didn’t. I couldn’t help but be curious. I wanted to really see if it worked. And if it didn’t I could still get drunk. I didn’t have to work the next day, so I could sleep in. I should’ve been thinking of another way to spend my evening, I know that now, but I didn’t then, and that’s what got me here. I swear I’m gonna kill em.


The club was dark except for the flashing colorful lights that swam across the dance floor like a rainbow that fell apart. The music was some Euro trash that bumped hard through the speakers that made me think I should’ve left right off the bat. But, I didn’t.

I hated that music. It was the same kinda music that was played on the radio station that I passed when messing with the knobs on my car radio. They always had that annoying DJ yelling like she was pissed off. But, she really wasn’t. She would yell through the airwaves at what she was about to play. Scream about how great the song was, then get some moron on the line that would dedicate it to some other moron and say it was some stupid anniversary. It made me sick to my stomach. So, right away, I went to the bar to get wasted.

I ordered a drink, and when I looked through the mirror that was behind the liquor bottles I saw her. She looked the way an eggplant looked if you stuck a head on it, and put it out along the side of a busy street promoting a pizza deal.

Think company mascot. The logo for some food company.

She had a white shirt on that said “Girl” spelled out in pink rhinestones. She had on a huge black fish net type skirt that looked like what fisherman used to catch fish with. Her hair was molded into place. Her face was scrunched together the way your grandparents smothered you when they grabbed at your cheeks and kissed you all over.

I told myself it should be a sure thing. I ordered another drink and downed both like a garbage disposal. I walked over to her and asked what was going on? She kinda just nodded and looked away. I asked her how she was? What her name was? If she comes here alot?

She still kinda ignored me, but looked at me once as my questions continued to come at her. I told her I wasn’t gay. Then, she told me her name. It was Trina.

I found an opening.

She said she comes here every now and again with her friend Carl. Then, she pointed him out on the dance floor.

Carl was seen dancing with another man who was not wearing a shirt. His tongue was in his mouth as they both moved to the music.

“He’s havin’ fun,” I said. “Are you?”

She kinda nodded. Then, I told her I was with my cousin Jeff.

That was me lying.

I tried pointing to someone, but to me no one at that precise moment looked like a Jeff, so I told her he must be in the rest room.

Trina laughed. She used her whole body when she laughed, which made her huge boobs flop up and down the way a moonwalk flopped around when kids jumped inside.

I told her we’re both in the same predicament. I said both of our men left us for others. That made Trina laugh again. Her boobs did the same exact thing as before. Then, I asked if she wanted to go somewhere else to talk. Somewhere more quiet.

Think less interruptions, no Euro dance crap. Just two people talking outside. In public where other people are around.

I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not a psycho.”

She agreed, and we left.

Outside Trina told me about herself, but I don’t remember what she said. Those two drinks sorta did a number on me because I’m not much of a drinker. But, I do remember when Trina and I went to the parking garage directly across the street from the club, on the third floor to make out. I do remember how my hands were cupping the mass of her breasts as I stuck my tongue all over her face. I do remember trying to lift up her fish net skirt to try and get some action below.

I couldn’t get my arms around her body. I couldn’t get my face very close to hers because her gut was too much in the way. I had to resort to other matters to get some satisfaction. I had to move my body around hers while licking her face at the same time to put my hands in places I bet no man has ever touched before.

She wouldn’t let me go up her skirt. She would rip my hands off her chest. She simply just wanted to make out. That was it. And if she said anything during that period I don’t recall it. But, I do recall me getting socked in the face with a fat fist when I tried one last attempt to put my hands down her skirt.

I remember thinking about how I just unleashed the evil of one woman.

I think she said something’ like, “I told you ‘no’ mutherfucker!” Then, she socked me.

She yelled something to the effect of, “You didn’t wanna do that bitch!”

Then, she socked me again.

Think of the screaming radio DJ I hate hearing when I’m surfing with my car radio. Think of the colorful lights and the sounds of ringing I heard when she hit me.

It was all coming back, but this time it was her voice that made the commotion. The sounds of my bones breaking played out as the music.

I remember Trina swinging me around and throwing me into a driver’s side car door. Think of me falling back, and taking a seat on the ground. Picture Trina sitting on top of me with all her huge mass, and slamming the back of my head into the car door. Picture me trying to yell, but couldn’t because her boobs covered my whole face as she leaned into me and rammed my head against the door like a hammer.

I think she might’ve said something’ like, “You think you can do this to me. Try to get a free touch. You don’t know me bitch. I’m a dominatrix!”

Picture her telling me that as her fat fists make contact with my nose again. It opened up like a pinata, and exploded with blood all over her white shirt. My eyes swelled up like cantaloupes. They became teary from the moment of contact where I could see nothing but water build up and out of focused objects.

I am the hamburger that Darnell is pounding at this moment, I thought. I am the piece of meat that gets devoured.

Trina mighta said something else at that point, but I couldn’t hear from the ringing in my ears. I know she did something else, but I couldn’t see it. I do remember the pounding her thighs did on my legs and torso when she yanked out my dog and inserted it into her vertical smile.

When I said apple pie, this isn’t what I had in mind.

She pounded and pounded down on me like a jackhammer. My body no longer felt pain because it went numb.

Novocain doesn’t work this quickly.

She pounded and pounded. Banging my head, and smashing my face.

She mighta said, “You like it bitch! Yeah, you’re my bitch!” but, I couldn’t say for sure. All I knew was I couldn’t come for the life of me. I didn’t have that pleasure my hand gave to my third arm like so many other times when I was alone. So, I started to think of hot sex. I thought of two girls getting it on with one guy. Bodies being rammed together missionary style as they both screamed in pleasure. I thought of two lesbians. The blonde cheerleader with the buff football player. I thought of anything and everything that got me excited in the past.

Then, I was able to do it. Let it out.

Then, she stopped. She got off me. I remembered I took a breath for what felt like years. Then, she might’ve spit on me, Trina that is, but I couldn’t say for sure. All I knew at that point was the wheezing I was doing with each breath, and how either arm could not move to try and lift me up off the ground. Then, I puked up the two drinks I pounded down when I met her. All over myself like a newborn.

Darnell wasn’t there to clean it up.

I passed out, either from loss of blood or being too drunk. And that’s how a passer-by, probably going home from the night, who parked on the third floor of the parking garage found me. At first, I bet they laughed. Then, when they saw the blood, they freaked out and called the ambulance.

And that’s how I got from there to here, breathing outta a tube, peeing into a bag, and being injected with morphine to drown out the pain of my broken body.

This is the reason that Darnell must die.

A nurse walks into my room, and says they are ready for me to have surgery.

All I can do is blink.

Think of me getting better sometime soon and walking outta this hospital, probably with a cane. Think of me going to Darnell’s trailer park and cutting off his penis while he sleeps. Or better yet, taking a picture of him when I go back to work and telling him he’s made employee of the month. Then, taking that picture and Xeroxing it over and over again with the words written under it, “Perpetrator. He likes to molest and take advantage of obese women.”

Picture me going to every gay bar in the city and taping it up all over the walls, so everyone can see that stupid grin and no teeth smiling piece of shit. That’s what I’ll do so he’ll experience what I have experienced just like what men use to do in the old days. They called it an eye for an eye.

The nurse shoots me up with something that makes me feel warm and tingly. I feel my eyes getting heavy. Then, the best I can do at this point is think of myself smiling about how I’m gonna fuck up Darnell because in real life it would look just like any other guy breathing with a huge tube in his mouth.


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