Utmost, Fucktard, Refined


3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320

words/phrase provided by @refinedcravings

The cummerbund was chafing, the bowtie was strangling me, the sleeves of my shirt and the cuffs of my pant felt about one movement away from becoming a baseball tee with capris. They were so goddamned tight!

The entire evening I would reach to shake someones hand, some “Mr. Doctor Sir General King and wife.” I’d shake their hand revealing my hairy arm covered in tattoos. Because my tailor kept prancing about clapping her hands and shouting “fabulous” I ended up in a paint job of a suit.

So after each handshake I’d need to pull down my sleeve. Yet, so tight was the jacket that my fixing arm would then need to be adjusted by the previously adjusted shaking arm.

I tried not to bend my legs as I walked. Although my calves are about as impressive as a 5th graders, so tight (again) were my pants that the cuffs would stick half way up to my knee. If I was slow to notice, the pant would work its way around my leg like a snake around fresh meat.

On top of everything else, I had accepted a plate of caviar and crackers. Looking around, I noticed no one eating but to my insecure eyes, they did all look confident, whatever they were doing.

So I took a cracker and attempted to lift the caviar onto it. I only managed to corral the fish eggs to the other side of my plate.

I tried a different tact. I shoveled the unborn fish toward my person with the idea that something different would happen. It did not.

Well, that’s not true.

I managed to scoop 4 or 5 crackers worth of caviar onto one cracker, something I was personally impressed with, but impressed I was not for long!

Like from the dead womb these eggs had come, they rolled, toppled and cascaded off of the cracker onto the front of my white shirt. Some of it hiding in the gills of my button up shirt, some of it tucking into my cummerbund and the rest falling to my shoes and the floor.

Wanting to be rid of the rest of my crackers, I shoved them in my mouth. So dry were they that I choked and coughed pieces of cracker out into the room.

So there I stood, choking on crackers, smacking caviar from out of the folds of my shirt, turning out my cummerbund to rid it of fish eggs, my pant cuffs nearly swallowing my knee caps, and my elbows exposed.

A gentleman walked up to me and said, “You sir may need some assistance.”

I coughed a couple of cracker pieces in his face before answering, “I sir probably look like the utmost of refined fucktards.”

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