The character of Fat Bastard as seen in the Austin Power movies was based on James Brockwell. A vile, obese, disgusting excuse of a human who managed the Admin division. Very few people have met another person with so little disregard for others. Compassion, decency, discretion and good old-fashioned tact was just some of the things he never bothered acquiring. He was the biggest, fattest bastard ever to walk the face of the planet.
But with all the slurring and vulgarity he spewed around the office, nothing could compare to the ill-treatment of Mrs Chetty, his small, sweet, soft-spoken Indian secretary. Everybody felt sorry for her, knew she was trapped in employment hell. Mrs Chetty seemed to have moved beyond tears and emotion, for he only exploits that as a weakness. She no longer felt self-pity, resentment or even depression for she understood that life is not always fair. But the abuse she endured culminated all her feelings into one word: HATE.
It drove this grandmother of three to the edge of the earth. It forced her to spend hours in front of the stove, perfecting her notorious curry, adding weird and wonderful ingredients daily. Many cats and dogs died, but it had to be perfect. And then after three weeks, it was and she took one plate to work. As a gift.
James Brockwell didn’t even bother thanking her when he hungrily grabbed the plate and slobbered over the dish. He shoved spoonfuls into his mouth, commenting loudly, causing spit, meat and sauce to fly through the air. She left him in his office, knowing very well it would take a while for the ingredients to settle and work their magic. And she clearly heard when it did.
To call it flatulence would be the understatement of the century because from behind the glass of his cubicle came a sound no one has ever heard before. It was a thunderous bang that kept going with a changing frequency that bellowed out for at least 14 seconds. Then James stormed out of the office, like no Wildebeest stampede ever did, going as fast as his ginormous frame could carry him.
Some people still speculate whether he made it to the loo. But he most probably did, for it wasn’t his excessive bowl movement that killed him, it was the cigarette he lit when he finished, with total disregard for the no-smoking sign. The ensuing impact destroyed four toilets and humps of his ass was plastered to the walls.
Mrs Chetty giggled every time she walked past the door to the loo which was isolated for the next four weeks due to maintenance and repair. It intrigued her how no-one felt sorry for the man, how everyone just moved on afterwards, like nothing happened. It was amusing how no-one made the connection. Maybe it’s because that slut Jenna Smith only ate the curry and died at home, she didn’t explode.
“All’s well that ends well”, she thought as she showed Eric Lautner his new office, her third boss in four years.