Magnetic Meatball

three

Magnetic Meatball

Radiators and exhaust pipes and coins and cutlery all jostled for space. Entombed by car bonnets and thrown out bed frames, a walking junk yard. A metal meatball. In the centre of the magnetic maelstrom, Richard Hornbutt, feeling slightly cheated. He hadn’t wanted this.

In hindsight he realised he had only himself to blame, the ad hadn’t specified the nature of the secret. Only that there was a genuine cheap way to become more attractive discovered by a single mother of three. By paying a one off charge of nineteen ninety nine (plus tax and admin fees) you could become the most attractive person in your neck of the woods. It seemed too good to be true, it obviously was, but Richard was thirty eight and still hadn’t dunked his junk yet, because, and it was truly a sad state of affairs that this was the case, women tended to sidestep him in favour of the better looking men. It wasn’t that they didn’t notice him. With a lethal hook nose that could have an eye out, and acne scars like Vesuvius, Richard had always drawn some attention. Just not the kind he cared for. Not the kind that cared for him.

The day after he paid the fee a burly man came to his door, flashed him an id and instructed him to follow. Richard did so, feeling somewhat apprehensive and excited and optimistic all rolled into one. They got into a car and drove to a secret laboratory where Richard was given a drink that made him pass out.

After recovering from the surgery Richard went out to the street and women flocked to him, some pressed their faces to his chest, eyes goggling as if being strangled, others appeared to be attempting to hear his heart beat. All of them, their hands frantically feeling all over his torso, had bewildered looks on their faces as though they were being forced into these intimate positions. Some seemed to be attempting to push their meat tacos against him, their backs arched as they thrust forward at his groin. He was flustered, but enjoying every moment of it. This was exactly what he had dreamed of all his life. Then the shit hit the fan. Small change flew like shrapnel, slicing and maiming the women surrounding Richard, their blood tracing arcs in the air. Cars started moving seemingly of their own accord, mowing ladies down like bowling pins as they careened towards him. Restaurant windows shattered as cutlery suddenly sprung from the tables, darting at the crowd about him, spoons cracking skulls like egg shells, forks whirling and pitching in ballet-esque movements, pirouetting numerous times before coming to a rest in some poor woman’s flesh. Soon the mass of women kind had given way to the unstoppable metallic abuse hurtled upon them. And, covered in the blood of damsels, surrounded by torn up car chassis’s and old iron works and tooth fillings, Richard sat weeping and alone.

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