Beto’s bicep was cramping up. He was on the phone to his mother and the weight of his soy device was proving too much for his atrophied muscles. His father had recently been replanted into a larger pot and his mother was calling to let him know how he was. “His leaves are green again and the bark fungi has almost cleared up,” said Beto’s mother.

“That’s great. Give him my love,” said Beto.

“I will,” said Beto’s mother and she hung up. Beto dropped the soy device and stretched his bicep. The pain was radiating in such a fierce manner that he thought he would have to call an ambulance. He reached for his trusty bottle of Soy Oil and gently massaged it into his toddler sized arm. Eventually the pain subsided and part of him was disappointed he wouldn’t get to go to the ER to expose the system’s faults. He considered attempting to change a tire again and maybe letting the car fall on his head.

Outside the press were waiting. When he opened the door a flood of journalists rushed him. They were like a virus trying to latch on to the closest healthy cell, except Beto was far from healthy. He had the upper body strength of a spastic octogenarian and the muscle mass of watermelon. The first journalist to reach him shoved a microphone in his face. “Have you officially withdrawn from the big fight?” said the journalist.

“We’re all adults here. There’s not going to be a fight,” said Beto.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING PUSSY,” said a loud voice from the back.

“I’m not a pussy, but if I were, there would be nothing wrong with that. I love pussy. In fact I love everything,” said Beto.

“Is it true you’re pulling out because you can’t make weight? You cannot put on the muscle mass required for the bout,” said the journalist.

“No, not at all. My soy diet consists on mainly soy and I’ll tell you something, I could bulk up anytime I wanted. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a tree planting ceremony to attend,” said Beto and he moved through the journalists to his car.

The tree planting ceremony had attracted a fairly large group of misfits that mainly consisted of vegans, tree fuckers, a couple of retards and some virgins. Beto had prepared a short speech to give prior to the planned planting frenzy. Security was on hand to contain any violent outbursts from the diverse group of freaks in attendance. “Firstly, I’d just like to say that I love trees. My father is a tree, recently repotted, and doing very well by all accounts. Growing up around trees was the best and I really love them. Good luck with your planting today,” said Beto. There was some clapping and at the back of the crowd someone called him a nancy boy. One of the retards took exception to something and threw a wheelchair at him. It missed by a few feet. Beto waved at the crowd and was ushered back to his car by his staff. He smiled all the way and his teeth resembled the whitest piano keys in the world. He was driven to his next engagement.

Next stop was a skateboarding competition for troubled youth that was being hosted by some local organization. Beto had agreed to attend because he loved skateboarding. Before the competition started, Beto was introduced to each competitor. Most of them shook his hand except for two competitors. One was Hispanic and after hearing Beto butcher the Spanish language like a first year apprentice butcher carving up a piece of chuck steak, he punched Beto in the face for sounding like a faggot. The other competitor was an amateur body builder who refused to shake hands because he thought Beto’s name was beta. Seeing the skateboards rolling past gave Beto the ridiculous idea that he could also do what the competitors were doing. He gave a nearby kid $30 to borrow his skateboard. He got on top, lost his balance and ate shit. His head hit the ground and the skateboard kept rolling away from him like his dignity and and respect the crowd may have had for him. He wished he had the roots his father had, but he was only half a tree and he still didn’t quite understand how his mother fucked a tree in the first place. Someone called an ambulance because his eyes wouldn’t line up.

At the hospital Beto became quite jovial. The doctor assessed him and decided he was fine to go home. Beto pressed the doctor for prices of various services. “How much are you charging me?” said Beto.

“I’m not really up with the latest costs,” said the doctor.

“BULLSHIT!” yelled Beto.

“I’ll need to you lower your voice,” said the doctor.

“HOW MUCH IS THIS?!” said Beto holding a sandwich that the nurses had brought him.

“About $2,” said the doctor.

“FUCKING RIP OFF!!!” said Beto. The doctor nodded to the nurse and she stabbed Beto with a needle. There was so little of him to stab that the nurse took a literal stab in the dark in the hopes she found a muscle to inject the sedative into. Beto tried to ask how much it cost but passed out before he could get the words out.

He came to at home. Someone has transported him back after the doctors sedated him. He called out to his staff but there was no answer. He reached for his phone but could not lift it. He cried. After his emotions leveled out again, he sat up and leaned over so his could see his phones screen. He pushed a button. He had no messages. There was a knock at the door and he almost shat himself. “Who is it?” he said.

“It’s me. Is that you?” said the voice.

“Who are you?”

“I’m me. Are you you?” said the voice again.


“Beto, it’s your father,” said the voice.

“Bullshit! Dad is a tree!”

“Just open the goddamn door you pussy motherfucker,” said the voice and like all well trained citizens, Beto complied. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Before him stood the most magnificent potted tree he had ever seen. The brightest green leaves filled every branch and the pot was gold. “Son, you’re in a coma and you’ll be stuck in here for while. I can’t say how long that will be for. It could be forever,” said Beto’s father.

“FUCK!” said Beto and in a rage he snapped a branch from his father and threw it on the ground like a bastard two year old chucking a tantrum. He then crawled into a corner and wept.

One thought on “Beto

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