Randy McGee

Randy McGee, of Mountain Home, Arkansas,

Carried, on his massive shoulders

And every other volumetric inch of his flabby frame,

A 658-pound mound of fleshy, undulant burden,

Which made getting around, let alone breathing,

Not so much a navigational feat as a logistical miracle.

People passing by and around him

Couldn't help but feel the oxygen rush from their lungs,

As if merely staring at him were enough to suffocate them.

Nonetheless, in his astonishingly stupendous corpulence,

Randy McGee had one great compensatory attribute:

His breasts were so tumescent as to be compelling.

Despite the fact that his disgustingly grotesque, gargantuan flab

Completely swallowed up what there might have been

Of his lowly penis and scrotum,

Randy was a man, all the way down to his bone,

Unencumbered by any gender contradictions, ambiguities, crises

Which might, otherwise, have rendered him highly undesirable.

Nevertheless, because of his colossal mammarian protuberances,

Randy McGee was seen as a Mother Earth figure

Of incontestably awesome stature.

The reputation of his pendulous chest's maternal plenitude

Was such that women who hadn't suckled anyone

Since gumming their mothers' breasts —

Park Avenue dowagers, diesel dykes, desperate housewives,

Hollywood starlets, WNBA players, school marms, nuns,

Sapphists, pageant queens, streetwalkers, bag ladies,

Soccer moms, fricatrices, beauty technicians,

Prima ballerinas, Hooters waitresses, tribades, and nurses —

Found themselves flying to Mountain Home, in droves,

To indulge at the free-flowing founts

Of his twin, lactating gardens of paradisiacal earthly delight.

And the best thing about it was that Randy McGee was free.

Moreover, males — young, middle-aged, ancient, alike —

Suspended their deepest-seated, most primal fears

Of being labeled "homo," "queer," "fruitcake," "poofter," "fag,"

And made their own pilgrimages to Mountain Home,

Tantalized by the possibilities of nuzzling Randy McGee's teats —

As close to returning to the womb as they'd ever come.

And all this bosom-buddying lasted for a remarkable feast of years,

Until Randy realized that his shortness of breath

Had less to do with his fabled obesity than with desiccation.

Put simply, his jugs had been sucked dry.

Concomitantly (though, for a long time, he failed to notice),

His food intake had dwindled from fifty pounds to eight ounces a day.

He was tired, worn out; fatigue had performed radical mastectomy.

In short order, over a period of eighteen months,

Randy McGee had lost a staggering 490 pounds of pure lard.

The stream of visitations trickled down to occasional spritzes,

As men and women quit their fascination for "Mother Earth" McGee.

After all, who could possibly take comfort in mere nipple-nubs?

Then one day, after languishing, two years, in abject loneliness,

Craving the attention and worship of someone to nurse,

Randy contacted a cosmetic surgeon, in Hot Springs,

Inquiring as to the feasibility and costs of male breast implants.

He was fitted with dual "Triple-X Jane Mansfield Special"s.

That week's Arkansas sections of Craigslist and Backpage

Featured an irresistible offer from one "Earth Mother R. McGee":

"GOING INTO BUSINESS SALE. ALL U CAN SUCK — FREE!"

Within hours, thirsty nurturees were queuing up at his boobs.

04/01/09 - (4)