Bring me Ketchup

I can go and get a free crack pipe, but I still get bullshit backtalk about Ketchup on my fries. One of the regional sauces of North America is Ketchup. I value Ketchup. It tastes good. I am an old man now, and demanding. Bring me Ketchup!

They say it is evil, and they always clothe their words with images of sickness. There is sugar in Ketchup. I had this fat girlfriend; she was on psych meds. She would go off with this lecture about the evils of sugar in Ketchup. She was afraid of fire. I could only have Ketchup at the barbecue. I lost weight. 

The fat girlfriend ran away to Montreal. She took her evil little dog and left. I went out and bought Ketchup. It was on sale, along with all the other good things the fat one would not let into her kitchen. I started to read books again. I would sit at the dinner table, all alone, with my dinner, my book, and, the Ketchup. 

They* say the three most important questions in life are 

is this meaningless? 

is this irrelevant?

is this unimportant?

I wish I had known this when I was fending off a plumper bent on making me as bloated in misery as herself. Back in the Dark Ages, before society was ruined by Christianity, there was no Ketchup, she would say. 

Is this meaningless? No. Not when you hand out respect unearned to self-hating plumpers. The shit testing plumper only clothes the meaningless in words as part of the test. Then it isn't meaningless; it is the filling of the perogy used to beat you. Nothing about being emotionally abused is meaningless. 

Is this irrelevant? Of course not. Being lectured by an ongoing failure about things that made them fail is part of pronoun life. You should run waddle with the winners woke. If I want the companionship of a neuropath, the irrelevant and the meaningless are on the table. 

Is this unimportant? No way. As long as I sell myself out, then the same lesson of having my Ketchup mocked will happen over and over again. That makes it important. There is sugar in Ketchup is important: these are the words written on the gates above your woke death camp. 

The fat girlfriend fled to Montreal. Her past had caught up to her. I started to read books again.  Then, she called me on the phone.

Is this meaningless? I thought as I saw it was her calling on the phone. Hmmm. This is a human being, I thought to myself. I have to answer. People are not meaningless.

The first thing out of her mouth was an insult. I had failed her by not being around the weekend she packed up her stuff. There was a box of St.Patrick's paper napkins missing from her dragon horde. It was green. I must have taken it from her. I am a gaslighter. 

Is this irrelevant? I do not think so. This is the stuffing of the perogy. I put the phone on speaker and started doing kitchen stuff: I was lusting for a French omelet with Ketchup. 

After the insult mantra, came the catalog of injustice. The last time I listened through the catalog of injustice, I got a sex reward. Now, nothing. I felt that my wages of sin had been cut.

Is this unimportant?  No, I do not think so. I think I stopped listening. I cannot even paraphrase what she said. Her call was unimportant. I went back to that Buddhist heaven where Ketchup in packets is free to all. I went back to the kitchen.

I was eating a delicious bowl of food, a French omelet with Ketchup. I gagged my cell phone with a towel. I got my biggest spoon. I sat down, the scent of Ketchup lifting my soul.

I could still hear her. My belly was full. She was a bedbug sized voice under a motel towel. I felt the desire to end the call. She wanted to live in the Dark Ages, in a time before Christianity and their deadly sugar culture. She collects rocks, and talks to trees. I knew she would tell me her dreams. I just knew. I took a scoop of food into my mouth, and clenched my big spoon with my teeth like a frog man with a knife. I texted her, 

A first outbreak of delusional insanity often originates in an anxious or terrifying dream. 

 I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care. 

* Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams, page 126 of my copy. It is in Chapter One of your copy.