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I Killed the Tallest Man So I Could Be the Tallest Man

I Killed the Tallest Man So I Could Be the Tallest Man

John Jodzio

I killed the world’s tallest man because I was sick of seeing him on TV selling Subway sandwiches and doing PSAs about bullying. The last straw was when he saved that dolphin by sticking his arm down the dolphin’s throat and pulling out the plastic bottle the stupid dolphin was choking on. Everyone was gushing all over his ass after that, asking him to come on their talk shows and featuring him on the nightly news. I couldn’t take it any fucking longer, alright? I was only a sixteenth of an inch shorter than him and I was way less Cro-Magnon-y looking.

One day I got so sick of him I bought a plane ticket to where the world’s tallest man lived and knocked on his door. When he answered I arched up on my toes a smidge to look him right in the eye and then I pulled out my knife and shoved it right into his heart. 

“Guess what,” I told him as he died. “Being really tall is only cool if you’re also alive.” 

Yesterday the man from the record book came to measure me and tell me what I already knew—that I am now the world’s tallest man. 

My agent started to try to line up some TV appearances for me, but it was pretty slow going. He explained to me that today’s television viewers mostly want to see morbidly obese people triumphantly lose weight or watch women who don’t realize they’re pregnant suddenly have triplets. 

“Maybe you should save a dolphin too,” he suggested. “Maybe that would help your profile.”

I drove over to the zoo that very afternoon.

“Do any of these dolphins like to eat plastic?” I asked the zookeeper.

“That one over there does,” the zookeeper said, pointing to one of the fatter dolphins named Jeremy. “Jeremy really loves him some plastic.”

The zookeeper went to feed some seals and so I threw a few water bottles and plastic forks into the dolphin tank. Jeremy swam up and swallowed everything down.

“Good boy,” I said, patting Jeremy on his snouty nose thing.

Later that night I got a call from the zoo.

“We need your help,” they said. “Jeremy is up to his old tricks again.”  

By the time I got there, the television cameras had been set up and the zookeepers had knocked out Jeremy. I took my arm and reached down deep inside his body and rooted around. Honestly it was hard to know what was what, but soon I felt one of the plastic bottles and yanked it out. Unfortunately when I got the bottle out of Jeremy’s mouth I realized that it wasn’t actually a bottle, it was Jeremy’s lung. I tried to shove his lung back into his body before anyone noticed, but that didn’t work because Jeremy was already shooting out a bunch of blood through his blowhole. 

My agent couldn’t find me much work after that, but he doesn’t think I will be a media pariah for very long. People love redemption stories and sooner or later everyone gives you a second chance. He says I’ll be back on top soon enough and if I gain a bunch of weight or become a drug addict or start buying valuable storage lockers or learn to be an ice road trucker. It might even happen quicker than I think.

All rights reserved to John Jodzio.

Illustration by Jared Tuttle

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