The suburban loser comes from a long line of husky people. He finds his father collapsed on the front walk one day after school, and he watches his father continue his routine of nightly tuna melts and pork rinds until his final heart attack a few months later. His older sisters experiment with diet pills that only thin their hair out and don’t stop them from getting milkshakes every time they borrow their mother's car. His uncles reward chores with warm ginger ale floats they call Boston Coolers. His grandparents buy bumpy cake with the same frequency they buy eggs. One Halloween in middle school, the suburban loser dresses up as the drummer of KISS because his friends say the fattest member could never be the singer. He hops the counter at his first job after a customer asks why a fat fry cook can’t make a good burger. He tries pickup basketball during his one semester at community college but comes down too hard on his knees after a lay up. But there are ecstasies between these humiliations. Hot dogs at the golf course. Sandwiches at the marina where his girlfriend worked. Technicolor bags of chips at the party store. Baskets of glistening chicken tenders at the bowling alley. Bags of french fries, sleeves of cookies, stacks of flapjacks, bowls of macaroni, plains of melted cheese, oceans of grease, mountains of sugar. Hunger turns into bliss like caterpillars turn into butterflies. When his jaw is wired shut after an accident at football tryouts, the suburban loser figures out how to stick slices of chocolate cake in a blender with a little bit of milk. His metabolism catches up to his appetite for a brief period during his twenties, but it soon returns to what the suburban loser fears is normal. His favorite way to make his sons laugh is moaning that he’s too full to take another bite as he shuffles over to the trash can to see if there is any meat left on chicken bones. When the weather gets too hot during the summer, he pops frozen miniature eclairs like ice cubes to keep cool. He spends a long weekend trying to make creme brûlée but repeatedly fails to settle the custards so he drinks it all like milk from a cereal bowl. When his sons are a bit older, his wife convinces him to take better care of his heart. He goes to the gym and spends long hours in the sauna. If the hotel has a fitness center, he rides the elliptical on vacation. This always makes him feel better, even if mothers still ask their children to step aside and let the big guy through when he rides elevators, or if the bartenders at the Jamaican resort give him the nickname Tick Man. At a Christmas party one year, his brother-in-law gifts him a DVD of Chris Farley's best SNL skits because it looks like the suburban loser on the cover. The suburban loser orders everyone out of the house and spends Christmas Eve smoking weed in his office, eating the cookies meant for Santa, and listening to Morris Day and the Time loud as fuck on his computer speakers.