Harlan was the newest member of the notorious Conrad clan. The Conrad's were a family of gregarious eaters whose pictures hung (like the mug shots of "America's Most Wanted") at every all-you- can-eat smorgasbord within a 30-mile radius of Denton North Carolina.
Harlan's introduction to the art of fine dining began in earnest as a toddler. As soon as his chubby little hand could grasp a fork, Harlan's legend like his stature began to grow. Harlan was a quick study. When you ate at the Conrad table, you learned to eat fast, because those who hesitated tended to go hungry.
Rita Mae Conrad was the former Little Miss Dairy Queen and 6-time pie-eating champion at the Denton County Fair. Rita Mae was twenty-eight years old and happily married to her high school sweet heart. His name was Crawford Conrad, AKA "Tiny the Tank," from his gridiron days, where he led the Denton County Destroyer's to the AAAA State championship.
The only thing that kept Tiny from a lucrative pro contract was a bum left knee and the love of his Momma's fried chicken. When the pros finally got around to scouting Tiny, he was a twenty-two year old offense tackle at the University of North Carolina. Tiny was rehabbing from major knee surgery, and by the time he had totally recovered, his weight had ballooned to 402 pounds. Although Tiny stood 6'-6," any chance that he had, had with the NFL vanished faster than plate of fried chicken at a Conrad family reunion.
Although Rita Mae was the smallest of the Conrad clan (discounting Harlan, of course,) she was not a little woman. She measured in at 5'-7," 285 pounds, wearing a floral muumuu for convenience sake. Truth be told, she was just too damn fat for conventional dresses, and judging by her eating habits, 285 pounds was just a temporary stop on the road to obesity.
Rita Mae was a junk food connoisseur and world class couch potato. She spent most of her day plopped in front of the TV watching talk shows and munching on corn chips, pork rinds, or some other delicacy from a bag. Although Rita Mae enjoyed a leisurely life, once Harlan arrived, she took to motherhood as a hungry dog takes to a bone.
She doted on little Harlan at every turn, delving out equal portions of tender loving care and second helpings with abundance. So much so, that mealtime became an adventure in overindulgence. Rita Mae spent her dinner hour cooing words of encouragement, as Harlan devoured bite after bite, until his chubby cheeks swelled like a squirrel with a bad case of the munchies.
"Just one more bite Harlan,� said Rita Mae, pushing the final spoon of mashed potatoes between Harlan's smacking lips. "Ah you're such a good boy Harlan. Now how about some ice cream for a reward?" At the mention of ice cream, Harlan's face lit up like a blue light special at K-Mart, and judging form size of his grin, we could tell that ice cream was one of Harlan's favorite foods. But then again, there wasn't much in the array of food that Harlan disliked.
Between his first and seventh birthday's, Harlan took to mealtime with startling frequency. He devoured plate after plate of such southern favorites as red beans and rice, BBQ spare ribs, fried chicken, and cornbread biscuits. With each passing day, his appetite, like his waistline, grew steadily larger. Although Harlan was only in the second grade, he had grown accustomed to fat jokes and had accepted the nickname of "big boy" Conrad. For at 4'-2" and 98 pounds big boy seemed rather appropriate.
Besides, there were worse things then being called big boy. Take Anthony Pirelli, for instance. He was the boy with a bad case of acne who sat next to Harlan in homeroom. His classmates had dubbed Anthony "Pizza Face," and from where Harlan stood, he thought he had gotten off lucky.
At fourteen, Harlan was the poster child for Overeaters Anonymous, checking in at 6'-1," 245 pounds. A compulsive eater trapped by the lure of such Americana as Whopper's, Big Mac's, and Krispy Kreme donuts. By eighteen, he was 6'-3," 305 pounds, and on a first name basis with the counter girl's at every fast food restaurant in Denton county. At twenty-five, Harlan, his weight approaching 345 pounds was on the road to a coronary bypass. But, then, intervened.
Harlan sat behind the wheel of his red, 1996 Dodge Ram pick-up, waiting to order from the Taco Bell drive-thru. As he approached the menu, a female voice greeted him via a loudspeaker.
"Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order?"
Harlan hesitated a moment and said, "Umm, I'll take one Nachos Bellgrande, six Big Beef Burrito Supremes, one Chalupa Baja with Steak and a large diet Pepsi."
Harlan paid for his food and began to pull away when he noticed that a Chalupa was missing from his order. He put the truck in park and walked back to the drive-thru window. "Excuse me, miss," said Harlan, "but you forgot my Chalupa." The girl snickered and said, "it wouldn't hurt a bit if you cut back a little."
Harlan became angry, crawling through the tiny window in an attempt to grab the girl, who retreated to the safety of a locked office to call the police. As Harlan got half way through the window, it gave way under the pressure of his weight. When the police arrived ten minutes later, Harlan was hanging in midair like a real life Winnie the Pooh trapped in a rabbit's hole.
When the police discovered Harlan, they erupted in sporadic laughter and taunts of "drop the Chalupa." Harlan was embarrassed of his behavior, and by the time the police had dislodged him from the drive-thru window, Harlan had formulated a plan within his mind.
"My next stop should be Subway or Blimpies," thought Harlan. Although he never had much luck with diets, Harlan was intrigued by idea of eating nothing Subs, for if you have to sacrifice, you might as well have fun