...He's got psoriasis, male pattern baldness, and halitosis. He has an unhealthy obsession with celebrity gossip and an underactive sex drive. He subscribes to two bimonthly political magazines but usually only uses the free samples of cologne. He is shorter than average, fatter than healthy, and smells frequently liked lunch meats. He fantasizes about his neighbors, but has only had verbal exchanges with two of them. He listens to commercial radio and compulsively reads the escort advertisements in the back of free newspapers. His skin has that unmistakable tint of an overused porcelin toilet b0wl but the dubious texture of a kindergarten carpet, worn in and fuzzy. He has back hair, chest hair, and stringy pubic hair. He rarely wipes his ass to hygienic satisfaction. He enjoys adding -holic to the ends of words especially in self-descriptions (see: chocoholic, sportsaholic, cataholic, etc.). He lies on occasion but does far better with exaggeration. A cursory glance of his apperance would easily place him in the 18-35 age group but exact age classification would be much more difficult. He avoids vegetables at most costs and is mezmerized by the cereal aisles at large supermarkets. He memorizes astrological signs but has difficulty following an ethos. He is our perfect customer...
...The executives bobbed slowly in their black leather chairs and adjusted their neckties. Tim felt the sweat slide down his back as the sea of pleats and double breasted jackets absorbed his presentation. Finally, the fat man at the end of the table rose to his feet and used his left palm to steady himself on the marble table. With a mature, syrupy rumble, the man cleared his throat and looked Tim straight in the eyes, "I for one, love it. Get ready to make some fuckin' money." The sea of black bubbled and popped and the fat man shook Tim's hand the way his father used to.