The Grotesque Grace of Michael Calendar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A deep insight into the salivating character of Michael Calender

The doughnut crumbs danced at the corners of Michael Calendar’s mouth, trickling from the bushy moustache and bouncing in time with his lips, stereotypically smacking to the beat of his greed. Calendar was a Mall Cop; plain and simple, but if you’d asked him he would have informed you he was a security guard. He was also a Mall Cop on his break. But then again, when you looked at his work ethic Michael Calendar was always on his break. The shopping mall he plodded around Mon to Fri was only really busy in the late afternoon, when schools broke out in spotty teenagers and the mall was flooded with babbling little shits.

But of course it was the summer, and that was a different story altogether! They were everywhere, parasites stealing from his mall, pawing and clawing and gnawing at the goods, and that was just what lay underneath their adolescent clothes which, come to think of it, changed almost as quickly as Calendar slurped up his doughnuts.

Working 9 till 5, what a way to make a living and then spend it all on food, food and more food; which wasn’t hard with the price of delicacies these days. His wallet was dusty and dry, something the dark leather had in common with his little Richard.

So yeah, this was why Security Guard/Mall Cop Michael Calendar was currently in the staff room on his billionth break. The kidz out there did his head in and, frankly, it was too much to patrol the mall on a day of this heat, especially with the air-con broken. He was a river of sweat beneath the blue shirt, the name badge jiggling against a home-made tit, and he was damned if he was going to stick his ass out there when his bosses couldn’t even be assed to fix such a vitality to keep him cool.

A clammy palm gripped hold of the joystick in control of the security camera watching over Victoria’s Secret. It felt…comfortable in his hand. Keeping a tight squeeze on the shaft and burping contentedly, he peered into the women’s lingerie. He liked Victoria’s Secret. Calendar found that it was one of the most interesting shops in the mal for a number of reasons, but he wasn’t going to dwell on the reasons now, he was too busy ogling a bodacious young lady to think about anything else. Sexy Bitch, he sniffed.

Needless to say, his vocabulary didn’t go very far.

He ran his puffy fingers down his shirt, partly to rid his belly of sugar and crumbs. As he turned his head to the side, Calendar spotted a flash of dark red at the corner of the screen, teasing him.

Eagerness overwhelmed him and the joystick was wrenched to the side, twisting the camera with a quiet hum and scrutinising the wide, blue eyes now looking at him from the shop floor. Behind the eyes, a girl chewed her lip curiously. Calendar mirrored the chewing and began to wonder how else that mouth might look.

Rushing out of the camera room and into the staff room, we meet Thomas Garrison. His ears were pricked to the grumping, bitching, moaning and fat-ass-hauling of Calendar in an effort to look busy. Garrison watched the chubby bastard loosen his belt, and pulled the magazine up over his face, trying to ignore Calendar’s incessant wheezing from next door.

“…fucking hate tourist season/shoppers/kids/working.”

The complaints were like Calendar’s waistband; infinite.

“Quit yer moaning and just keep an eye on those cameras,” Garrison slapped the armchair he was sitting in with the magazine. He wasn’t going to get any relaxation with this prick floating about. Unlike Calendar, Garrison had actually been working that morning. He deserved this break to be uninterrupted.

“Why don’t you…” grumble, grumble, grumble.

“Just chill out man. Jesus.” What had happened recently to get Calendar into such a state anyway? He was hardly the most genuine guy at the best of times but today something had just snapped. Maybe mama Calendar had chucked him out again.

Fatty boom-boom-boomedhis way back out into the staff room just toshoot daggers at Garisson. Garisson ignored him, and in the end Calendar had no choice but to return to checking the cameras. The room contracted back into its normal size, no longer needing to expand to fit around that asshole's grotesque form.

“Hey Tom!” Garrison could hear the jowls quiver from where he sat. “Come take a look at this.”

“What now?”

“Just come here will ya?”

Garrison ground his teeth to dust and paced into the next room. “What?”

A toe-ish finger pounded off of one of the monitors. “See that?”

Garrison peered at the pixelated image, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. “It’s some guys chatting up one of the Abercrombie models, so what?”

“Chatting up…or harassing?” Calendar’s yellow teeth glowed in the dark of the room.

“Chatting up,” Garrison confirmed, but he could already see his counterpart salivating at the idea of rushing to the rescue of some skinny damsel in distress. Whether or not she was actually in distress didn’t really matter to this obese beast. And if he was going to rush to her rescue then maybe Garrison would finally, fucking finally get some peace.

“Go on then,” he jerked his head at the monitor, “go get ‘em.”

“I will!” The security guard punched the air triumphantly, a war-cry bubbling up in his digestive tract. It was either that or a stupendous fart. Without another word he adjusted his belt and pounded out of the staff room, all clad in his XXL shining armour.

Garrison sat down in front of the monitors and stretched his arms behind his head, compared to this sort of entertainment, his magazine was sheer crap.

Submitted: February 19, 2012

© Copyright 2023 Alex Lamont. All rights reserved.

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