Make America Grate Again

TW: Swearing.

Is your cheese too blocky? Are your burgers hampered by the height of your halloumi? The solution is simple. For only $9.99 we can teach you how to turn a culinary faux pas into a fromage.

            *Soft white rind cheese sold separately.

            When I was a kid, I thought my life would be like the movies, specifically Spy Kids. Being a spy in real life is incredibly boring. Filling out a risk assessment for an armed mission is ridiculous.

            In the movies the bad guys all have flamboyant costumes and private jets or yachts that take them to their private island bases. In real life that’s more tycoons and tax dodgers.

            I shot one guy in a four-colour suit while I was under the influence of hallucinogens and apparently, I’m considered ‘a loose cannon we can’t afford.’ My boss had the vein sticking out in his forehead as he yelled it. That guy is a total downer. He needs to take a chill pill. I offered him one of mine, but he just shouted even louder at me to get out. He should stop wearing red, it’s a very stressful colour. I only wear green now.

            It’s insane. If that man wasn’t a villain, it was just a matter of time. Apparently, I have an ‘overactive imagination’ and my bosses don’t like me being high on the job. If real life didn’t suck so much, I wouldn’t have to do mushrooms to make it more bearable.

            Daytime television is insane. $9.99 for a cheese grater? Just use a knife. What do they think I am? Made of money? I just lost my job and I still managed to spend less than that getting an unregistered gun. You have to love America; guns are cheaper than graters.

            I can buy a breast pillow for the low, low price of $19.99. It sits between the breasts while you’re sleeping to do something. I have no idea. Presumably it just means trading one kind of discomfort for another. Also, I’m betting that it would smell in no time.

            I haven’t heard back from the bank yet. I have extensive firearms training and former security clearance. I must be qualified to protect cashiers from idiots in hocky masks. Although a lot of people just wear masks now because of the pandemic. I’ll probably just kneecap them to be on the safe side.

            A sauna personalised to just one hand is available for $24.99. The drawback, other than being pointless, is that you have to refill it every twenty minutes. Pass. Although having flexible hands wound be a bonus when I’m fighting bad guys at the bank. I’ll call it a maybe.

            My face isn’t getting enough exercise. That’s news to me. Luckily the people who invent things for the shopping channel have come up with a torture device that fits conveniently in my mouth. It’s definitely not going to choke me and comes in a range of flattering colours. It’s flexing, exercising, and strengthening the facial muscles of the woman who’s selling it. Someone somewhere is recording this for their oral fetish nonsense. $50. Nope.

            Why isn’t the phone ringing? I attached a photo of me with my gun collection when I handed in my CV. They know I kick ass. They should have been begging me to take the job.

            $19.99 for a plastic bear that craps chocolate? Bought. Do I need it? No. But who wouldn’t want that? It craps candy and it’s a bear. That’s a no brainer right there. I get out my credit card and dial the number on the screen.

            “Hello. Yes, I want to buy the bear that poops candy. Yes. I’ll hold.” Annoying music plays as I wait. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long. I don’t want to miss my call from the bank.

            I brush crumbs off the sofa as I wait. I’ve been a bit of a slob since I lost my job. My green bath robe has a few stains which could be misunderstood by people who don’t know how much I like chocolate pudding.

            I smell my armpit. Big mistake.

            Time to shower. I carry the phone with me as the robe falls away. The curtains are closed, and I live alone. My birthday suit will do.

            All the towels are sitting in the wash basket which also stinks a bit. I look at the clothes in wardrobe and decide to sacrifice a woollen Christmas jumper that I won’t need again for another six months.

            The music keeps playing so I flip on the shower and start rubbing myself with the soap one handed. There’s some weird pink mould growing along the seals in the shower, but I haven’t summoned the effort to do anything about it. The broken door lets out some of the water which is soaked up by my already sodden bathroom mat.

            The music stops. I flip off the shower as fast as I can, still covered in soap.

            “Hi. Still here. Thank you. My card? Yeah, I just need to go and get it. I was in the shower.” Is she laughing at me? What’s so hilarious about a man showering?

            I run through the house, dripping everywhere. I grab my wallet from my jeans and pull out the card. My phone is pressed between my ear and shoulder. Covered in soap but at least it will be cleaner than it was.

            “My name yeah,” I spell it out to her. “Address, sure.” She repeats it back to me. “Card number.” I tell her everything and she confirms it then tells me my purchase has been successful. “Thank you, madam.” I hear her snort as she hangs up. Rude.

            I jump for joy, soap dripping off my dangly bits as I celebrate my impulse buy. I run back to the shower which has flooded the whole bathroom. I don’t care. The phone is still in my hand, so I toss it down the hall. It should be alright. Phones are tough?

            When the bear arrives two weeks later the sound of the door knocking wakes me from my slumber. I rise with the urgency of a cat startled by unexpected cucumber. Running to the door I put my foot in an open pizza box. Ketchup covers my foot as I tell the guy I’m coming.

            The box for the bear has my name on it. I smile like a kid at Christmas as I tear it open and pull out the bear.

            It looks smaller than it did on tv.

            Whatever. I can’t wait to see it crap chocolate.

            I press the nose like the woman did on the shopping channel. The bear squats as if the magic is about to happen.

            Nothing.

            I press the nose again.

            Nothing again.

            I look in the box.

            Nothing.

            *Chocolate sold separately.

            “FUCK!”

            Life is cruel my friends. Life is cruel. Not like Spy Kids at all.