Roy Hurns has eight months until he can collect his pension but there’s only 122 days until the end of the world. Y2K.
Daddy walked out years ago and Momma’s dead. No one left on this earth cares about Roy, and why should they? He’s a fat, forty-two year old, post office employee that lives in a trailer filled with every As Seen On TV product you could throw your money at.
(BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!)
Roy Hurns has an obsession, an affliction. He has the overwhelming need to prove to his dad that he matters, that he did something. No matter what it is, Roy wants to reach out and touch the world, even if that means cutting off pieces of his body and shipping them in packaged meat trays.
There it is, it’s no fluke. Roy Hurns is consumed by the idea that he’s invading the lives of others, the bodies of others, like a disease or a demon or a thought you can’t shake. For the first time he might actually be figuring out what makes him tick, what keeps him alive, what makes him feel powerful, effective, forceful. Roy Hurns is consumed with the thought of being consumed.
With every box, envelope, bag, a part of him goes to invade the life of another. We are, all of us, disintegrating at the speed of time. Why not go on our own terms? Why not exercise some level of forethought, some dimension of control? Why do we have to go out, here, within ourselves? We go circumscribed and hog-tied into tomorrow. But not today.
Eat Me is a book about looking for purpose in the face of desperation and entirely missing the mark. It’s a fable about the byproduct of bitterness and false expectations. A despotic satire that manifests itself over and over again in the lives of those waiting for something like purpose to grab ahold of them in the night and haunt them like hell. Because, unless you find the thing that haunts you harder than hell, you eat, work, sleep, then die. You are what keeps you up at night, not your job at the post office.
The clock is running down on Roy’s existence and what better way to be remembered than to be eaten.