Yessiree, it's that time again, thanks to the gracious (and funny!) Marie Sexton.
This week I'm bringing you Fallon, Todd, and Jake, aka the Hunt Club, from FUGLY, a contemporary fable. When these guys go clubbing together, they love getting their snark on; it's part of their man-hunt ritual. But . . . they end up paying a high price for their ridicule. (David Ocho, the narrator in the snip below, observes but doesn't participate in the snark -- lucky for him.)
* * *
The Hunt Club began doing what it did best: scan the area for prey while making snide comments about the men who weren’t up to their standards.
A group of five kids walked in. They looked like kids to me, anyway, but were probably students from the university.
“Here comes the itty-bitty-titty committee,” Todd said.
“I don’t mind snack-sized,” Fal countered.
“Then maybe I should introduce you to Gabriel,” Todd told him. “I think he’s got a crush on me. I’d like to nip it in the bud.”
Gabriel was a new Sudbury-Bischoff employee, an allegedly short and quirky young guy who took care of the cosmetic side of their preparation work. Todd preferred tall, handsome men. All three of them did.
Although none of us would’ve said so to Todd, we all wondered how he managed to hang on to any hook-up after the hook-up found out what he did for a living. It was an irrational prejudice, granted, but a prejudice we had trouble overcoming. Fallon had once said, “I’d do Toddy in a minute…after I knew he’d spent a day getting detoxed by a hazmat team and another twenty-nine days in the shower.”
A short time after the twinks walked in, Jake peevishly noted the “glamazon” who was dancing with a man he fancied. Fallon, possibly taking umbrage, said glam was better than butter-faced, which described the glamazon’s partner.
“Damn, look at that one,” Todd said, pointing out a guy who was wending his way from the DJ to the bar.
“Yowza,” Jake said distastefully.
“Boy must’ve tumbled from the tippy-top of the fugly tree,” said Fal, “and hit every branch on the way down.”