“Michael, do you think I’m a fat busted?” my English cousin Mark asked last week. “A fat busted?” I replied. “What the hell is that?”
“Sorry, mate … a faaaaaaaat baaaaaa-st-aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrd is what I meant,” he barked … exaggerating the dramatic “r-sound” to make him sound wholly American.
“Now why would I think that Mark?” I answered. “I mean, other than the fact that you’ve become completely and utterly entranced by American food, American food by-products, American fast food and American junk food?”
Seems my cousin made the most of his trip to the States … wolfing down as much food as was humanly possible without throwing up. From Moon Pies to Russell Stover Candy to Sonic Burgers, it was all fair game. And Mark was not going to stop until he had eaten it all.
On Day 3, I watched in awe as Mark unhinged his jaw and swallowed an entire BBQ pork sandwich in one fell swoop. On Day 4, Mark saw a TV commercial and mentioned we had to find a Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop that offered a new 4th of July flavor. It was actually a tie-in marketing campaign for the upcoming Captain America film. Mark fell victim to the oldest trick in the book, combining Hollywood with hunger pangs.
Every time food would be served Mark would utter the same phrase, “Bloody hell! Will you look at the size of these portions? They’re huge.” The conversation would then cease while he inhaled said portion. When he was finished eighteen seconds later he would then utter the following phrase: “Bloody hell. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing. I feel sick!”
I tried to document as much gluttonous intake as possible, but I had to be stealth-like for fear Mark would eat my camera. Overeating on vacation is an American tradition. For Mark … it was like the mother ship had called him home … and called him a fat “busted”.