by Gregor Nazarian
Now I know you’ve heard this lecture before, Rick, but frankly I can see the fire running out of your eyes, just like that pork-saturated gravy running out of your mouth. Are you even committed to this dream anymore? Your mother and I sat down with you and decided that this was the best thing for all of us. Do you remember that, Rick? No no, don’t look at me with those tears in your eyes; wipe them on that barbecue wing while you eat.
Son, you and I both know that in this family, we’re not quitters. Hell, I could have been the fattest man in the world myself if I hadn’t blown out mty knee just before the county fair my junior year. But now you can live my dream. I mean your dream. You’ve got more natural talent in one massive, gelatinous pinky finger than I ever had in my entire body.
You want to leave those mozzarella sticks there on your plate? You think that’s how you become the fattest man in the world? There are starving children in Ethiopia, children who need a hero. Rick, that hero is you. You have a golden opportunity to do something they could never dream of: consistently eat more than the bare minimum necessary for human survival. Do you want to let them down, son? Do you want to let yourself down?
I’m sorry; I’m getting a little emotional. It’s just hard when your little boy doesn’t want to grow up into the blubbery ogre you know he has the potential to be. No no, don’t pass me that napkin; you’re going to need it. I just want you to know that whether or not you finish those cheese fries, I love you. But more if you finish the cheese fries.