A man loved his home so much he decided to eat it.
I asked him why
The man who loved his home so much looked at me as though I was the crazy one. “It’s much better for you than McDonalds, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut.” I had to agree rubbing my sybaritic belly. I said that this story sounded like Blue Beard and his many wives. The man who loved his home so much said “This is the only home that I’ve loved.” I said I understood. One can really love one’s home.
I watched the man who loved his home so much from the bathroom window start on the inside of the house. He started on the floorboards as though it was bread. Next it was the walls, and the doors, and then the stairs. By the time he got to the hors d’oeuvres (television and radio and microwave) he was done for the day.
I joined him for a post-prandial cigarette.
The next day, feeling revigorated by his love for his home the man who loved his home so much
consumed the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, and the bathrooms.
“You have to eat another two thousand, six hundred and fifty-five bricks,” I said.
His teeth were in bad shape but so were mine so I said nothing.