Addicted to Grease

Patrick Burda


Five-quarter pound Angus patties covered with cheddar cheese, sit stacked on a buttery pretzel roll. Mayo, ketchup and grease drip off slices of bacon. Onions and jalapenos, both deep fried, hide somewhere in the mound of burger. A sea of French fries surrounds the mountain with waves of chili-cheese.

This sandwich, The Big Angus, was created especially for me, the very large Andy. I challenge restaurants to fill me, a human black hole. I have not encountered a plate that has satisfied me yet.


Cheese oozes, as my swollen hands squeeze the pillow-sized buns. I bring my face near the mighty meal, as I prepare to plow into it. I pull my head back and the crowd starts to whisper to themselves. I pick up the top bun and add chili cheese fries to the already tall sandwich, and they eat it up, clapping as I dive sweat-head first. Grease flows down past my chin and is soaked the by neck of my shirt. I stopped trying to count calories long ago.

The people root for me, for once. I receive several high fives and pats on the back as I lick my plate clean. What a tasty appetizer that was. I let out a loud belch filling the air with the aroma of chili and meat, and yell out “Next plate!” The crowd goes nuts, if only they were covered in chocolate...

 

Your brain’s Limbic system processes most of your emotions and memories. That also includes the hypothalamus, the region that is in charge of functions that range from breathing and sexual satisfaction to hunger and emotional responses. The limbic system is full of opioid receptors. When endorphins reach these receptors you should experience pleasure and satisfaction. Endorphins block pain and make us feel good. My endorphins are extra crispy.

 

Chocolate can literally make you feel better, but I haven’t found a candy bar big enough for me. I wish I could take a dip in Willy Wonka’s river, like lucky Augustus. Emerge me and then purge me.

 

They bring out a myth of a meal. The legendary Bacon Explosion. It is a bbq-baked torpedo consisting of a layer of bacon coating ground Italian sausage. The middle can range from things like cheese, caramelized onions or peppered bacon, but this one had hot dogs and mini tacos. I skip the fork and knife routine, and grab the bomb with both of my hefty hands. I dunk it between pools of honey mustard and ranch and while I inhale it.


Complete strangers shout my name as if we were life-long friends. If only they knew I ate my friends long ago. It’s the same in every city, people gather to watch me gorge myself on towering plates. I never asked them to come, but when they hear “Andy Titanic” is going to attempt a new challenge people come running. People greet me on the streets; I am stopped while waddling down the road. They ask me how I feel about the next big challenge, and I tell them “Hungry.”

People have heart problems because plaque builds up on the inner walls of your arteries. Plaque can made from things like, calcium, fat, and cholesterol. Cell in the walls of your arteries, in an attempt to deal with the clogging, will multiply and will secrete more substances that can actually make the clogging worse.

I don’t have a heart. I sautéed it in butter with garlic and lemon then served it with a baked potato. A dinner for two eaten by one.

 

They bring out a mammoth of a pizza. On the crusty canvas I see: corn dogs, French fries, chicken nuggets, mini burgers, mozzarella sticks, every other regular pizza topping, and it is topped with an egg. I am feeling woozy, but the crowd keeps cheering. I fold it over like a taco and open as wide as I can. The crowd grows louder with every bite. I finally get the pizza party I always wanted.

I can feel the crowd pushing me. I can feel my endorphins secreting. The food crawling done my throat and join the other monstrosities in my stomach. I can feel my heart pounding as the plaque builds. Let the pressure build. There is applause as my kidneys start to go into failure. Smiles and cameras flash as my liver shuts down.

I have eaten more than a country, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want to eat this pizza. I want to eat dessert. I want to eat this crowded restaurant and the people inside it. I want to eat the world. Fill this void or stop my heavy heart.

 

I lick my cheese fat fingers as my vision starts to blur. I chomp down and feel a crunch. Blood pools with the marinara sauce on what’s left of the pizza. There is a gasp in the crowd, or maybe it my lungs trying to flush out all the cheese sauce in my lungs. Either way the crowd goes silent, as my oversized head crashes onto the table. The better part of what looks to be a cheese stick tumbles out of my mouth.

 

I keep chewing, but it’s not enough...

 

I’m still “Hungry”

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790