ShortFest: Fat Weasel

By admin

There I am, in the cocktail lounge of the Sweaty Palms Motel, knocking back my 5th or 8th Fat Weasel, when a VP of Acquisitions from the Blueberry Pie Channel ("HD pie, 24/7"™) comes rolling in. He's been locked in a cubicle all day, watching tapes and DVDs of short films, and he's starved for human contact.

So Mr. Piehole straddles the stool next to me and begins yammering about the lack of decent Pie cinema: "Where are the flaky crust auteurs? Where are the angst-filled dramas on the rolling of the dough?"

After he realizes I'm not taking the bait, he switches topics, to The Ladies Who Lunch: "How do they do it? How do they sit outside those cafés and NOT SWEAT? I'm wandering down Palm Canyon Drive, hallucinating with heatstroke, and they're in the sidewalk patios with clouds of useless mist raining down on them. It's hotter than the inside of a pizza oven at their tables, but they don't show even a DROP of perspiration!"

I briefly wonder if I should explain the acclimating process, but something else burbles out instead: "Don't tell anyone, but they've all had their sweat glands removed."

Piehole's eyes widen: "Really?"

I'm in much too far to bail out now: "Sure. It's the latest fad. Most plastic surgeons offer 'em a package deal, when they get their jowls winched back behind their ears."

He stands up warily and moves to the far end of the bar, watching me with reproachful eyes.

Strangely content, I resume sucking on my Weasel.

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