The Water-Chugger Bachelor

The two of them sat, scoping out potential mates for Alessandra.

“I don’t know, Leene,” he said. This was short for Leena. “Look at that big thing of water he’s got. Look, he’s chugging it like he’s got a hot tamale lodged in his gullet.”

“How do you chug water?”

“Leene, there are two types of people who chug giant bottles of water that they brought themselves–health nuts, and emotionally unstable nutbags. And does he look like a health nut to you? Look at those chicken-ass legs. He’s got chicken legs.”

“Why do emotionally unstable people chug water?”

“It calms them.”

“Are you just making that up, or did you hear it?”

“Look, even if I hadn’t heard it from like a brilliant spectrum of sources–which I have–it would go without saying.”

Leena scrutinized him quizzically.

“Okay. Imagine, Leena, you’re at your wits’ end. Every day is pain, and the thought of getting up in the morning fills your mouth with bile. It also fills your soul with the spiritual equivalent of bile–grief.”

“Nice analogy,” Leena said.

“Thanks. You know what happens when people start to lose it?”

“They start tinkering with the insides of TVs?”

“Please. There’s nothing insane about my electric window idea. No, the correct answer is that they start looking for remedies. Anything to make them feel any amount better about anything. So they start thinking, ‘What’ve I been slacking on? How can I be a healthier person? Exercise more? Sure, that’d word, except, oops!, I can’t stand exercise, that’s why I don’t do it. Eat more greens? Okay!’ and maybe half of those people start cramming spinach down their yammer-pits whenever they get the chance. The other half say ‘Forget vegetables, they taste awful’ and resort to drinking more water instead.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Do you know how much water people’re suppose to be drinking?”

“Eight to eleven glasses a day.”

“Yeah. That’s a day, Leene. Do you drink that much?”


“Me neither. That’s because only looneyfolk are desperate enough to care. Them and health nuts.”

“Have you ever been one of them?”

“Health nut? Sure. I once swam the Baltic.”

“A loon.”

“Well, yeah. You think I get all this info off cereal boxes and such? A few years ago I was loopier than a noose, honey-pie.”

“So a few years ago you would’ve been just as ineligible as Louie McChuggerton over there.”

“Hell yes I would’ve. Leene, you wouldn’t believe it was the same person if you saw me back then. I was always ranting. Silently, or the other kind. I was a walking case of OCD, I tell you. My hair was brown back then too.”

“Wow. So did the carpet match the curtains, if you know what I’m sort of implying?”

“Come on, it was OCD. The spatula I used to flip my read magazines matched the curtains.”

“How ’bout your pubes?”


“So I guess this guy might be as eligible as you a few years down the line then, huh?”

“Please. Look at those chicken-ass legs.”

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