"Last Saturday night, which I spent alone, I ate mince, cheese, and ketchup on toast because I lost the will to prepare real food.
My thinking was that it it would be like the cross section of a burger, delicious slices of the fast food staple yet thin enough to slide under a door.
I spent the evening looking at the Facebook profile of the guy who bullied me at school, harvesting his ludicrously open profile for information I could use to wreak a revenge sixteen years in the making.
The real reason I like flat food?
Back when I was at school I didn’t leave my room for three whole weeks because I was terrified of the same no-neck goon who I devoted my last Saturday night to stalking online.
Much of what I ate during that time was food that my mother could slide under the reasonably generous gap under my door.
Pop tarts, ritz crackers, wafer thin slices of ham.
At the end of my self-imposed imprisonment I was even more doughy than before and, unfortunately, an even bigger target for the Hyenas stalking the corridors of the concrete prison that was my school.
I’ve been eating a lot of flat food lately as I sit at my laptop dreaming of some sort of justice.
Memories long buried are dragged up with every bite of toaster pastry or After Eight mint.”
I receive a lot of strange messages.
Some seem to be fantasies inspired by real life, others pure works of imagination written for pleasure while a few, I worry, may be all too true.
I know next to nothing about our flat food eater.
I hope whoever they are that they’re okay.
I hope they can take solace in their pop tarts and don’t dwell too much on the past.
I hope the flat burgers weren’t as awful as they look, that next time you feel inspired to go the extra mile and splash out on a patty and a bun.
I sincerely hope you don’t extract some elaborate Saw style revenge on your former schoolmates from in front of your laptop while munching on crackers and cackling maniacally…