A Piels, Nebraska man followed through on what some were calling a foolish threat that he made leading into the weekend.
The man, Edgar Whitehead, spent most of Thursday and all of Friday bragging about how he was going to “beat down my liver like the bitch it is.”
Sources say that he seemed to have spent a lot of time planning out exactly how he was going to mount his attack, which was to include spiced rum, Genesee Cream Ale, Tylenol and whatever he could “scrounge up and swill.”
According to co-workers, he actually took the time to print out a photo of his belly so he could tape it to the dart board in the staff lunch area and throw darts at it.
“Yeah” said Randy Rudolf, a 5-year employee of the banana peeling plant that employs about 25 local residents. “He’s kinda a dick, so we don’t really pay attention to his crap if you know what I mean. Am I going to, you know, like, get paid for this?”
Stella Baloo, who is a supervisor at the plant, spoke to one of our reporters under the condition that her identity remained anonymous. “He didn’t even take a pic of the right part of his body. He’s so stupid that he thought his liver came before his stomach.”
She later went on to point out that he wasn’t even a talented banana peeler. “You would think that after all these years, he would be pretty good at peeling bananas. But he’s not,” she complained. “He’s the only person on the line that needs a knife slice to start off the peel. I mean, c’mon – what a time waster. Man up and use your friggin’ nail, dude.”
Mr. Whitehead’s wife, Becca, supported her husbands decision. “Let’s face it,” she said, “he’s kinda a dick, so I don’t really pay attention to his crap if you know what I mean. Am I going to, you know, like, get paid for this?”
When pressed, she added “listen, it was the weekend, he had a rebate for Captain Morgans, and The Walking Dead was starting up again. As long as he wasn’t getting in my way, he could do whatever the F he wants with his liver. Ain’t none of my biz.”
The most troubling complaint came from their 18-year old daughter, Eliza, who said “he only got ginger ale, when he knows I like the Diet Coke with the Captain. Don’t even know if ginger ale has caffeine and that’s, like, a big deal to me.” As tears rolled down her cheeks, she added “he don’t care nothing about me – knows I like the Diet Coke, but gets the ale. I hope his liver wins.”
The irony, of course, is that if his liver wins, he loses, And if his liver loses, he loses. But if his liver wins and he loses, then he wins.
With that, Eliza let us know that her head hurt.
While Mr. Whitehead never sought medical attention, his discomfort was obvious the next morning as he grimaced, doubling-over as he walked.
“He just kept moaning and groaning,” recalled Mrs. Whitehead. “It was so annoying that I moved myself to the couch just so I could get some sleep.”
When asked whether or not he would seek medical attention in order to confirm or refute whether or not he did, in fact, beat down his liver, Mr. Whitehead replied “docs don’t know squat. I don’t need no doc to tell me I won. Sheeet, I can barely walk. I won bigtime.”