Death By Carbs by Paige Nick

Author:Paige Nick
Language: ara
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookstorm
Published: 2015-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

Wednesday 3:49pm

‘You know what happened to me yeshterday?’ Frank slurred, spilling his drink as he waved his glass at the man sitting two barstools down from him. ‘You’ll like thish one, it’s really fucking hilarioush,’ he said.

The man turned towards Frank and nodded him on cautiously, not willing to shift a seat closer in case there was another snub coming.

‘Sho I take shandwiches to work theshe days, you know? I haven’t alwaysh, I ushed to eat out for lunch every day and twice on Shundays. But theshe days I’m on a budget. So it’sh peanut butter and jam, shometimes cheese. But anyway, I had a shandwich left over, pb and jam, and I’m on my way home from work, sho I give it to this homelessh guy on the pavement jusht sitting there, being poor ash fuck.

‘There I am thinking I’m being the humani-fucking-tarian of the year, but you know what he did? Go on, take a guesh, guesh what

the fucker shaid?’ Frank noticed he was spilling his drink as he gesticulated, and licked at his arm, not wanting to miss a drop. Then he took another large gulp, drained his glass and yelled for the barman to pour him another.

The man shrugged.

‘Thish fucking begging guy took one look at the shandwich, and shaid, no thanksh, I’m trying to cut down on my carbsh.’

The man sitting two barstools down snorted, and even the barman smirked.

‘Yeah, laugh,’ Frank said, ‘but you shee, it’sh not actually funny. Where’sh my fucking drink?’ he bellowed at the barman again, who raised an eyebrow at him as he refilled his glass.

‘That fucker ruined my life,’ Frank moaned.

‘The homeless man?’ asked the man two barstools down.

‘No, you fucking moron, that dead Banting professhor, the sho-called guru that everyone ish praying to theshe daysh,’ said Frank, putting air quotation marks around the word ‘guru’ and spilling more of his drink in the process.

‘Oh you mean Tim Noakes? The guy who wrote that diet book?’

‘That’sh the one!’ Frank said. ‘Can I tell you a shecret?’ He glanced over each shoulder. ‘I could have published hish book. But it wash the one that got away. It’sh the shaddest story you’ll ever hear. I passhed on it.’

‘You passed on it?’ the man asked.

‘Yup! Guessh what’sh got two thumbs and passhed on the gooshe that laysh the golden fucking eggsh? Thish guy!’ Frank pointed his two thumbs at himself, almost swaying off his barstool in the process.

‘I’m a publisher,’ Frank slurred. ‘I mean I wash a publisher, before I let the big one get away. The professhor wanted me to publish it and I turned him down. I told him it was a fad. I shaid nobody would ever buy into eating pure fat. I shaid it was the dumbest idea I’d ever heard. I shaid doctors around the world would laugh him out of the room, and then shue him for malpractice. Ha ha ha, who’s the arshehole now? Two hundred thoushand copiesh shold, and counting, plus all the shpin-offs, and thish ish only the beginning, they predict it’ll shell millions.

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