My Last Supper

N I N E

I ignored the terrifyingly attractive man's words and headed out the door. Where in the fuck am I?  My mental question was answered as I bumped into a man whose music taste was stuck in the early 2000s and whose annoying-ass quiff belonged on 2015 musical.ly.

His prepubescent voice boomed from above me. "What are you doing outside of your room?"

"WHOMST the fuck are you, and why did my mother sell me to you?"

"I am Luke Hemmings, but to you, I am Monsieur Hemmings." I immediately threw up in my mouth. "And your mother sold your ugly fat ass to my emo boy band for a half used Target gift card and a bottle of Advil."

"Oh shit. Well I can't blame her for accepting that offer. What a steal," I shrugged. "So what was the purpose of buying me? What can I bring to the table, other than the confirmation of your own self-worth in the presence of the atrocity that, regrettably, is me?"

"Well at first we just bought you because from far away you looked... okay at best. But by the time we saw what an unspeakable, blindingly grotesque creature that you are, we had already given your crack mother our tempting offer. In fact, we actually hadn't specifically brought anything to purchase you, because we thought she was desperate enough to just give you away for free. We found the stuff underneath the seats of our Limited Edition black Range Rover."

Gotta love when they go on a spiel like that. Really takes it outa ya. You know, I can only take so many hits. 

"Anyway, you're coming back with me. We're having breakfast- I mean, the band and I are having breakfast. If you're lucky enough to find dust mites on our miraculously clean floor, have at it." He then proceeded to pick me up (with great effort, might I add) and throw me, full throttle, head first, down the ~20 step stairs. 

"As soon as I landed I began to scour the floor for any crumbs that the others might have dropped, because as you have hopefully learned at this point, I am one hefty girl who needs to eat in at the most 30 minute intervals. It's safe to say that this would be a problem.

"Hey bitch, what do you think you're doing?" asked one of the emo boys sitting at the table, wearing a leather jacket, pants, and a shirt that he thought was grunge and cool but looked like he copped it out of the middle of a busy highway. Not to mention, his hair looked like it was going to fall out at any fleeting second because he had dyed it so much to distract from the fact that he was obviously the runt of the pack. 

"Listen Krusty the Clown, a girl's gotta eat- even if it's the nasty ass leftovers that fall from your Herpes infested crater that you call a mouth," I fired back. Maybe I should back down a little bit. I mean I obviously want to die, but in the comfort of my own home. Well, at least somewhere in which I am not being oppressed by an emo boy band of some kind. 

Krusty immediately shot up out of his chair and went straight for my neck to end my life. After three milliseconds of consideration, I simply stuck my neck out as far as it could go in order for him to reach it with ease. But at the very last second, another one of the boys pulled him back.

"FUCK you BITCH!!" I screamed. Did he not see my desperation?

"Dude, if we kill her we're gonna get in big trouble with Hemmings," he said in an attempt to cool down Pennywise. "I want to strangle her until I see her withered, wrinkly soul slither out of her body as much as the next guy- believe me. But we can't mess with his plan." They then stepped back in agreement and started eating again, but not without the obvious death glare, which was promising for my near future. 

Wait, what plan? What the fuck are they planning on doing with me? Oh maybe it's drug trafficking, I've always wanted to do that. If that's the plan I'm totally down. 

As I sat in the corner of the luxurious kitchen, after an unsuccessful scavenge for my meager food, I heard the unmistakable footsteps of the one I'm supposed to call "Monsieur". 

"Is everything going according to plan? I heard some yelling." 

"Yeah, nothing to worry about. The girl was just being a pain in my ass," remarked ol' Ronald McDonald. 

"What ass?" I said under my breath. 

They all heard it but chose to ignore it, because I think it was actually a very sensitive topic among the band and he was very insecure about it. 

"Anyways," continued Monsieur, "we're leaving in one hour. Everyone better get their shit together because I'm not waiting- and neither is the Boss." Oh shit. Who's 'the boss?' 

After this short discussion I was picked up again to be hurtled through the air, but this time it was upstairs- something which was discovered milliseconds before he crippled to the ground and threw his back out from the weight and lack of momentum. 

After I was forced to obtain the three pairs of clothes in my suitcase, we started off to the airport. We arrived, and I was surrounded by the 'men' as I got out of the car. Yet it wasn't as threatening as I thought it would be, seeing as one of them had a name I couldn't remember for the life of me and I kept thinking it was "calvin" (which is unfortunate but just not menacing), one of them carried drumsticks in his backpack to look cool but was obviously trying way too hard and it came across as a 5th grade talent show where he wanted to impress his crush Jessica, one of them was a sad clown, and the last one was rolling in front in a wheelchair as a result from straining one (1) muscle. Oh and as the cherry on top, each and every one of them sported some sort of emo brand that they snatched from Hot Topic in a 75% off discount because nobody else would buy them. 

We boarded the plane with effort, and finally got in our seats. 

"You know it's just really an experience to have a disability. Being in a wheelchair just really made me realize that... I mean wow. We really do experience shit no one else has to go through. It's just so enlightening, you know?"

"Sir, please get out of the cockpit."

Luke grudgingly rolled himself back, making sure to violently bump into every single seat on the way. He then made eye contact with me. Oh wow. This is our moment. Finally.

"You don't know how it feels, you crumb eating piece of shit." Maybe I misinterpreted that look slightly. 

I then decided to flirt my way out of peril- maybe I could get them to like me and not treat me like a fuckin war prisoner. So I winked at him and smiled. But since there was so much extra fat on my face, the wink looked more like a threat- the two sections of fat above and below my eye met and created a force so strong that it literally sent Luke out of his wheelchair and on the floor of the plane. 

"Shit what the fuck happened bro?" Twisty screamed. 

"Hemmings are you good?" Klein jumped up.

The other one just performed poorly executed drum patterns on the back of the seat in front of him. 

"It's her. Kill her. She's not worth it."

They all looked and me and made a silent agreement. 

Krusty charged towards me first, seeing as I kept calling him nothing but clown names and he was more than ready to end my sad, sad life. Klein forcefully opened the side door, and waited for Krusty to bunt me out of the plane. 

"Bye, bitch." Wow, who knew those would be the last words I heard. Actually, I kind of always knew.

And I plummeted toward the blue ocean, my suitcase quickly following. 

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