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They sat down at opposite sides of the small table. One of them, a woman, was exceedingly attractive, both physically and in personality. The other, the man, was quite the opposite. Standing at a respectively average height, he nevertheless weighed an amount that was strikingly above average. Four-hundred pounds so, to be quite exact, a feat that many people would consider impressive, his date not being one of them.

As their number was called, and he sloshed out of the seat and waddled to the counter, he reflected on the great lengths he had gone to in order to create such a romantic atmosphere in the Burger King that night for his blind date. He remembered that morning, when he had dug through his closet for something that had been washed in the past two weeks. Upon finding nothing, he instead settled for something that was reasonably (that’s relative, of course) clean. The end result was a white T-shirt several sizes too small, and a pair of khaki shorts.

Despite the amount of stains on the shirt being approximately one-third the usual amount, it still possessed four stains that had resisted the washing machine consistently. These stains, of both indeterminate age and origin, had existed almost as long as the shirt had, purchased during the summer between High School and College, almost ten years before. A case in fact, considering the persistent nature of the stains, could be made that the products responsible were no longer manufactured, perhaps for having been the source of a semi-epidemic of some sort. As he carried the greasy burgers and the soggy fries to the table, he failed to notice the crunch of his foot on a cockroach, whose corpse now felt more at home on the bottom of his shoe than it ever had in the Burger King.

As he sank back into the seat, matter folding around the chair in ways that should for all reason be physically impossible, he began to eagerly unwrap his burger and in one fell swoop of his gargantuan mouth he destroyed half of it. He reached that awkward moment that lies between chewing food and swallowing it and, without proceeding to the next stage, uttered the phrase that will inevitably end, “Wow! That’s burger is as big as your face! Are you really gonna eat all that?”

The rest of the dinner was uneventful, though it should be noted that, after that comment, she did not in fact eat it. In any event, they eventually ended up back at her front porch. He was ready and prepared for this moment, having looked it up on Wikipedia. He had even checked the article everyday just to make sure that it hadn’t been changed for new information. He leaned in for a kiss. Meanwhile, his date had resigned herself to the fact that, while the date had not been ideal, he did deserve that much at least.

Disaster struck again, which frankly, was par for the course. As he drew nearer to her, the half-cooked burger had its revenge upon its devourer. He let out a rancid belch, smelling of all things rotten. As he found out that night, brushing once a week was still not enough to keep smells from piling up. His date, unfortunate as she was, would later have sworn that she had smelled the smell of something that had died.

This proved to be the final straw. His date drew back and slapped him hard across the face before turning and storming inside, slamming the door behind her. As he rubbed the sore spot on his face, he smiled to himself. “Heh, she touched me,” he remarked to himself, “it’s been a good evening.”