FICTION: The Biggest Faggot in the World

biggest faggot

There’s no denying I love cock. Cock in the morning, cock-flavored syrup, cock à la mode. Cock. But come on, guys. I have a hard time believing what you wrote on my locker. Am I really the biggest faggot in the world?

I guess the first thing we should clarify is what you mean by “biggest.” Biggest in size, or possessing the biggest craving for cock? If the former, I’ll concede that I’m easily the heftiest person here at Galileo High School. Furthermore, I’ve never met anybody between grades 9 and 12 who can recall seeing another person as chubby as me. I’ll even agree, for the sake of argument, that I’m probably the most obese person in Colusa County. But listen, guys. Colusa County is not the entire world. Haven’t you ever heard of Wisconsin? They say you can hardly tell the people from the cows in Wisconsin. I’m definitely not as big as a cow. You saw that yourselves, on the night before the big game against Santa Rosa, when you tethered a Holstein to the football field. Because that was the same night you gagged me, stripped me down to my boxers, and chained me to the bleachers. After I managed to slip one of the rungs loose, I realized I couldn’t possibly outrun you guys—especially you, Deacon, with your state record in the 200-yard dash. So I jogged over and hid behind the cow. That’s where I was at midnight, when the groundskeeper came by on his little gardening cart, and you all scrammed. If I can hide behind a cow, there must be some people in Wisconsin who are bigger than me.

As for possessing the world’s biggest craving for cock, all I have to do is remind you of Neil Patrick Harris. Remember when he came to the gym, as part of the community service he was doing, and delivered a speech about the lifelong benefits of taking a drama class? After his presentation, me and some of the drama kids (I’ve never been a drama kid, but they let me tag along) took Neil out for milkshakes at Johnny Rocket’s. I guess Neil put a little something extra in his banana-chocolate swirl, because he ended up climbing onto the jukebox and shouting that all he cared about in the world was cock. He said—and I remember this precisely, because it was a big moment for me, personally—“Cock is the totality of my existence.” Now, let’s contrast that with me. I certainly do love cock. But I also love the NHL playoffs. Dear God, the sight of our beloved San Jose Sharks gliding onto the ice, sticks flying, helmets agleam, and all those blue jerseys in the stands going wild—that is something I cannot live without. I wish the NHL playoffs happened every day. So you see, I might love cock, but it’s not “the totality of my existence.” There is someone who loves it even more than I do. And you can watch his TV show on Monday nights at 8:30pm on CBS.

Guys, what’s the takeaway here? I understand what you were trying to say, but I think you might have reached a little too far on this one. Why don’t you sneak back into the hallways tonight, scratch out what you wrote on my locker, and replace it with something more reasonable, like: “Emmett Biberauer is definitely a faggot, and he is also quite fat.” Is that something we can agree on? I’m happy to spitball this in the library after school, if you want to hash out the details. I mean, we’re all in Mrs. Alpert’s English class. It’s not like we haven’t learned how to construct a proper sentence that Strunk & White would approve of.

Of which Strunk & White would approve.

The truth is, fellas, although your words were carefully chosen and certainly hurtful (or would have been, if they weren’t so close to the truth), I think you know me better than that. I think you were being a bit disingenuous. I’ve certainly known most of you since we were little kids. And I know plenty of things about you now. Like how you, Ellsbury, hang out by the girls’ shower room at night, and touch yourself behind the garbage can. I know this because I’m usually here on Thursday nights, waiting for the vending machine guys to restock the Fritos. (Nothing like Fritos fresh off the truck!) Or how you, Deacon, missed the PSAT exam because you were in the boys’ bathroom, scrubbing shit off the inner leg your pants. Yeah, that was me in the other stall. Russo, I don’t even have to remind you of what you cried about in the back seat of Natalie Valenzuela’s car, right before she crossed over to my side and became my best friend in the LGBT club.

All I’m saying, guys, is let’s be a little more accurate with our words, okay?

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5 Comments

Filed under Original Fiction

5 Responses to FICTION: The Biggest Faggot in the World

  1. Go Sharks! I also wish it were the NHL playoffs all year, except that I have trouble watching when the Sharks are in it because I care too much about the outcome.

  2. Matt

    That whole thing was pretty gay man.

  3. jane b

    Kids don’t make no sense!

    (Yay, Brian!)

  4. Sammy O Joe

    Thanks for capitalizing “FICTION” in the title

  5. fictionadvocate

    @Sammy O Joe: It’s technically fiction because my name is not Emmett Biberauer.

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