The Pact

The fat, ugly, 50–something, white fag was holding court at the University of Fag Bar (pending accreditation). His audience were three 20-something fag tourists: one was a hunky white dude, another a pathetically skinny, chain smoking white fag and the third, a slant eyed fag with a West Coast accent. 

It would be correct to say the Fat Ugly White Fag had a captive audience – he was buying all their beers and the three fag tourists, realizing that no one else in the bar would talk to him, were smart enough to let him spiel and dip into his wallet. 

FuelMix was quietly eavesdropping as the Fat Ugly White fag proclaimed his personal history.

Turned out that he was married with a wife (the type with a pussy) and some teenage kids. And he had a pact with the wife. She would turn a blind eye to his craving for cock. In return, he would fund her and the kids, while turning a blind eye to her craving for cock. 

FuelMix assumes that part of the agreement would be that neither would fuck the same man, but hey, who knows. 

According to Fat Ugly Fag, the pact worked well and had been in place for many years. He travelled extensively and frequently, diligently paying pussy and the kids every month. He bragged about the houses he’d bought for her, the clothes and cars for the kids, the medical treatment and the fees for psychological counseling. 

FuelMix pricked up his ears at the last item. Fat Ugly Fag continued: his kids had not quite turned out the way he had assumed, according to the pact. Two of them were in therapy for personality disorders and social alienation. Their school grades weren’t stellar either. Fat Ugly Fag shook his head sagely, took a slurp of his beer and grabbed the crotch of the nearest tourist fag whom he was plying with drinks. Tourist Fag smiled at him, then turned towards FuelMix and rolled his eyes. 

Fat Ugly Fag claimed he couldn’t understand what the kids’ problems were, but felt it best to leave it to "experts."

FuelMix smirked. Seemed the problem was pretty obvious.  Kids who were simply an expense item growing up with a distant (emotionally and physically) father who spent his evenings at fag bars around the world, grabbing cock. Apparently, compared to cock, quality family time might be hard for him to swallow. 

One of the Tourist Fags asked if Fat Ugly Fag felt alone in the world. “No”, claimed Fat Ugly Fag, “I have friends all over the world.....”. 

Another Tourist Fag asked if he might like to spend more time with his emotionally troubled kids. “No” said Fat Ugly Fag, “I’ve left them to the experts. I’ll pay whatever’s necessary and keep my end of the pact”. 

FuelMix finished his drink and swiveled off the bar stool. The pact seemed entirely stupid and chronically crippling to the kids. No doubt some outraged reader will accuse FuelMix of jumping to conclusions. Probably. But any parent with a minimum of sense would at least look at the family context before writing cheques to the therapist – and before bragging about it to strangers. 

Presumably the beer was a business expense too.  

Originally published 11 July 2007
Amended and Republished 24 October 2011  |  22 December 2013 |  
2 April 2018

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