“Easy, easy, simmer down, there’s plenty of scraps for everyone in this office fridge.
“No one’s actually talking, but if the louder chewers could keep it down that’d be appreciated. We have actual business to discuss—Friday Fridge Cleanout isn’t just grazing this week.
“I don’t need to tell you guys; it’s on the tip of our collective tongue just as much as this still-okay, three-day-old lasagna. It’s the new guy, Alex. Ever since that trim motherfucker first sauntered up this office’s half-flight of stairs without panting or dry heaving two Mondays ago he’s been cramping this workplace’s happily-fat habits with his blatantly healthy lifestyle.
“Okay, slow your rolls. I’m noting a mist of anger and mouth crumbs forming and we don’t need anyone to pull a jowel here. We’ll all have a chance to speak out about Alex; no one needs to risk choking on these mildly-stale macaroons we foraged.
“Alex is the real deal, burley brothers and stout sisters. Restraint, pants in normal sizes, self-respect—this kid’ll be tough to break. In just ten days here I’ve watched him turn down donuts on numerous occasions. I overheard him ask for vegetarian options during Meat Tray Monday. And he smugly declined my offer of drawn butter yesterday. He left me looking like the one asshole in the break room with no self-control who puts drawn butter on his tuna salad sandwich.
“Enough is enough. I’m tired of his passive fat shaming—every time he turns something down it’s like he’s stating he’s too good for our high-calorie, high-fructose, high-flavor lifestyle. I ask you all, how can we be expected to feel comfortable gorging in a den riddled with his unspoken, skinny judgment? Our life-shortening practices deserve support, and this time I don’t just mean from our girdles.
“We’ve been lucky with the apathetically hefty hirings the company’s made over the last two years; however, I’m afraid we’re going to need to begin active recruitment. It can be done, people. Henderson here was the last one we converted and look at him now: face-deep in container of four-day-old pasta salad that he’s doused with Thousand Island dressing. You’re an inspiration to us all, Henderson; glad to have you on board.
“Henderson, you went willingly. Alex might be tougher. But, much like our champion tug-of-war team, if we all pull together I think we can effectively guilt him into gaining through a covert artery-clogging assault.
“We’ll start each morning. I’ll get here early with cream-heavy donuts or cream-heavy bagels and leave one at his desk on a napkin with his name on it. The draw will be too great. Only a diabetic sociopath would be able throw anything that sweet away. Soon he’ll be hooked and it’ll be part of his routine. I’ll dispense the butter misters, too. All of us can stealthily tack on calories whenever he leaves his food unattended.
“Further, we’ll begin holding a ‘raffle’ each week. Of course we’ll fix it so that Alex always wins the gift cards to T.G.I.Friday’s. That place will be perfect—even just a side salad and a glass of water will run him north of 1,000 calories at Total-Gravy Indulgence Friday’s.
“Last, and I think this should go without saying, we’ll start up the perpetual birthday racket. I’ll run point, but I want everyone here claiming a ‘birthday’ within the next three weeks. With this we’ll be able to peddle heaping mounds of cake and ice cream on him daily and justify it all with ‘inclusiveness’.
“Of course, if our scheme to fatten him up doesn’t take, we’ll just do things the old fashioned way and send him an anonymous series of menacingly sexual threats before setting his car on fire.”