Fruit

I was walking out of the bank today when this women who was waiting in line for the green machine looked at me and half moaned like a cow being force fed a leg of lamb through it's arsehole. "Oh my god", she blarted, "he's so skinny!", with extra emphasis placed on the skinny. She said this while gripping a banana in her left hand, holding it like it was proof that despite all appearances she was actually healthy and slim, and her gluttonous rolls of lard were a mere optical illusion or a temporary glandular problem.

I glided past with all the confidence of a a person fully in command of his diet and body. I could hear her bones protesting as they tried vainly to support her weight, her chubby hand daintily holding the banana which would soon be converted into another extra chin, or early onset diabetes. Driving away I saw her through the window, still standing in line, still holding that banana like Jesus must've brandished his truth, while her carcass bore the weight of her sins with all the grace and dignity of a beached whale.

When she dies, I hope someone places a banana in her hands. As the crematorium incinerates her bright yellow coffin, I'll be there, eating a cupcake and smiling.