The Fat Man Speaks

There’s more to this old Fat Man than meets the eye – and with my size, plenty meets the eye.  I’m not merely flabulously funny and fixated on food. No, I am so much more! Tucked somewhere, way below all this blubber, there lies a serious soul. Of course that poor soul was seriously knocked down by all the flab flowing freely about my body.

This evening, it was my serious side that was called to action. I was invited to speak as the monthly garden guru at the Grand Connivance Village Center. Oh, did I forget to tell you that I am a Super Garden Guy? A few years back, I sat through Super Garden Guy classes, did the classwork and homework and passed the exam. Afterwards, the University of Fat certified me as a Super Garden Guy. See? I am certifiable!

My only disappointment in becoming a Super Garden Guy is that I did not receive an official SSG cape to wear to my talks. I briefly solved that problem by wearing my Fat Man Cape. That is until the SSG head honcho asked me to stop wearing it.

“It’s not a bathrobe! It’s my Fat Man Cape. It protects me from unforeseen dangers, e.g., hurled insults and flying fruit.”

Anyway, fourteen hearty souls braved the fearsomely freezy breezes to congregate at the Grand Connivance Village Center to hear what wisdom I would impart to them. Each came hoping that I would answer just one of her/his burning questions. Alas, I did not know the rules for acquiring a Burn Permit.

I spent the afternoon assembling my props and finalizing my slideshow. After dinner, I loaded up the Fat Mobile and schlepped myself across county to the GC Village Center. Fat City is divided into multiple Villages; Grand Connivance is its oldest.

My adoring soon-to-be fans began trickling in even before I could finish setting up. One gentleman even offered me live chickens in exchange for my knowledge. I had to respectfully decline, “Thank you, but no thank you. I am unable to accept your generous offer. Accepting it puts me at risk of actually entering a tax bracket. And we can’t have that, can we?” Seems pretty respectful, if you ask me.

The clock chimed half past seven. The meeting room doors clanged shut. I began, “Good evening. My name is Fat Man. I am a Super Garden Guy and welcome you to this month’s garden talk: Super Beginnings for Super Gardens.”

I then proceeded to guide these faithful folks through the steps to becoming a beginning super gardener. I showed them some pretty pictures and spouted pithy utterances. I showed them my books and magazines, my catalogs and my collection of vintage vermicompost. I gave them The Works – two all-beef Flabby Patties, bacon, cheese and special sauce, sandwiched between two thick slices of Freedom Toast. I do so love extra bull! There’s the Beef!!!

When at last my tongue stopped wagging, sixty minutes on the clock had passed. We still had 3o more minutes, but I needed to beathe for a moment  and field questions. Fortunately, none of them were of the “Stump-The-Super-Garden-Guy” type. I proved myself to be perspicacious enough to be able to provide sound advice in responsse to their inquiries.You just might say, “You done good, Fat Man!”

I rounded out my talk with a quick run through of gardening tips that work most of the time. And then my performance was finished. The audience disappeared into the great unknown beyond. Whether any of them benefited from this experience I will never know. But I had fun. And in the end, is that not all that really counts?

Let me leave you with some words of wisdom as once quipped by the great Canadian Novelist, Margaret Atwood, “Gardening is not a rational act. And neither am I.

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Categories: Uncategorized | 3 Comments

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3 thoughts on “The Fat Man Speaks

  1. Mom B.

    Way to go, Fat Man. I learned gardening at an early age as we always had a garden and your grandfather B. had his own unique compost system but never got into vermiculture. Living here, I had compost which consisted of kitchen waste that was not fatty, no meat. I just piled it under a tree and then the lawmower clippings went on top, it was very rich. Now, alas, my gardening days are over, so I’m very glad you are an avid gardener. I would pass my golden trowel to you but can’t remember where I last used it.

    • I always think of Poppop’s compost pile whenever I am active with my two compost piles — they are nowhere as big as his. Or did it just seem so big since I was so much smaller back in the day?

      • Mom B.

        Gee, I didn’t think you even remembered the old Bullard compost piles. It could be that you were much smaller way back then, but they were huge.

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