Piggy in the Middle

*Knock knock*

The rap at the door woke Graham from his slumber. His white surf brand polo shirt showed the scars from the night before. Mustard stains coloured the neck and chest area. He lifted the shirt to scratch his side, flashing perfect bruising around the kidney area.

*Knock knock*

The person at the door was growing impatient as Graham rolled from side to side in an effort to gain enough momentum to rise from his bed. It wasn't a water bed or mattress that wpuld naturally allow you to sink into, just his Darryl Brohman-esque figure made sure he was implanted some 6 inches below the lip of the bed.

*Knock knock*

"I'm coming" wailed the now rocking Graham. Cogniscent of the fact that girl scouts don't wait forever to pawn off their cheap tasting, incredibly over priced cookies, Graham was bounding his way to the front door. His kidney bruises feeling every step as the fat around his mid section rippled like a lava lamp.

*Kno-*

Only half a knock this time as Graham swung the door open, at the same time blurting out "2 boxes of the choc chip, one hazlenut and a macadamia surp-" stopping half way as he was greeted not by a girl scout but by a man with extremely large ears. A clear bottle clenched in his right hand, empty packets of confectionary in the left.

"I'm so sorry!" Said the funny looking Indian man. "What is that taste in my mouth?" He questioned, in a way that a fellow Indian male might say in a comical manner destined for television advertisement for a low carb beer. The label of his bottle now revealed itself as once containing 750ml of Schnapps.

"You prick!" were the first words from the fat kids lips. "I've been pissing blood all night". Sure enough, Graham had been visiting the toilet every hour or so throughout the night to urinate a scarlet red. The realisation on Graham's round face was haunting as his mind caught up with Mr Cool's apology. The bottle of schnapps he had given to Cool as an early birthday present was consumed over the course of the night with the big ears growing as red as Graham's urine would eventually run. His wry smile slowly shifted to a devilish grin and he began punching people in the kidneys. The 10 packets of Wizz Fizz did nought to quell his appetite for inflicting pain and at the end of the night the victims lay motionless only clutching at there sides every hour or so.

Graham staggered to find his couch and broke down in tears. Half happy that he now held the world record for hot dog consumption in a 24 hour period and half shattered that the bottle of schnapps had forsaken him, only fuelling the big-eared Indian prick's run of destruction. Peace was eventually restored at about 3am when an amubulance came and Mr Cool had worn himself out by showing everyone how many roundhouse kicks he can do in 15 minutes. It's 112 in case you are wondering.

Every now and then I look back and think, maybe I'll get him some schnapps this year. Graham always prevents me. When I study his obtuse torso, I take thanks that I am not so girthy. My rippling abs define my persona and my rooting skills. I then take stock of the situation and tell myself, "Eh meh, I'm George and I can do whoever or whatever I like!". This year I am buying Mr Cool a case of schnapps, a bucket of Wizz Fizz and a helmet cam. The poster of Kevin Costner in my bedroom tells me to build it and they will come. I plan on building the shit out of it. This year McGraths Hill. Next year Cannes.