Well, I didn’t TRY. On purpose. But I sure made an attempt. What I was trying to do was save him! He got too fat for his glass:

But he kept eating! So he literally was stuck in the glass. I couldn’t get him out! He fit fine in June, when he grew a root. Here he is on August 19th, 2013:

It was like Winnie the Pooh getting stuck in the mouth of that cave. I heaved and pulled and asked nicely, but Fatty couldn’t budge. It took me a month and a week to work up the courage to crack the glass. In that time, his toothpicks gave out and he fell to the bottom of his jail. So sad:

But there was still green life in him, nestled deep inside him.

So I got out the hammer. I put him in a brown grocery bag.  And I gently hit the glass. Tap.    Tap-tap…    Hmmmm…   “I guess I have to hit it harder…” “I don’t want to…” But I did.

And still, nothing! “Okay,” I thought, “I can’t do that this way. I’m scared I’ll hurt him. I know what I’ll do…”

So this was my brilliant plan:

I didn’t really think it through. I THREW FAT BASTARD OFF OF THE BALCONY….

AND DIDN’T REALIZE THAT MIGHT BE A HORRRIBLE IDEA!!! I heard the glass shatter and saw:

And STILL I was hopeful that all would be wonderful! It wasn’t until I opened the bag that I realized what a psycho mother I was. I didn’t dangle my baby over a balcony with a cloth blanket over it’s head. I put the entire baby in a PAPER bag and dropped it off the side. Holy Jesus. If you really love avocados and don’t like scary pictures of them, close your eyes and scroll down until you think you’ve passed the next photo. Even if you go too far, it’s worth not seeing it. I feel like it’s one of those PETA pictures of tortured animals that they flash around like everyone can emotionally handle it, but then we’re all scarred for life every time we go to eat chicken. We keep thinking of the equivalent of a really scary haunted house made by chickens to scare the shit out of other chickens.

Anyway, seeing this truly frightened me:

I did that.

To sweet sweet Fatty BombBastard. I severed all of his limbs. Yet, did my hope go away? Crazy-mother-on-a-hill-with-a-tub-of-tube-socks No! Of COURSE it didn’t. Well, for about three minutes it did. First I was shocked, then terrified, then like “Oh shit!”, and then “Well, that was stupid.”, then I decided to clean all the glass off of him.

And his insides were beautiful! What a site to behold! He is a sunset of colors: Utah orange, pistachio green, delicious caramel beige, and sacrament purple… which could be more of a wine color, or a deep royal velvet robe, or a really bad bruise. These next photos are kind of alieny. But if you are already scared/ scarred from the last photo, why not just keep going with the theme?:

Then I remembered that people graft avocado tree limbs to other avocado trees. I didn’t understand what that meant at all when I first heard it. Avocados can take five to thirteen years to bear fruit. So humans figured out that if they take a young avocado tree and tape the limb of an older fruit-bearing tree to it, the original tree bears fruit in about three years! Tape. Amazing. And that sometimes they graft lemons, or limes, or tangerines or whatever to an avocado tree and the new limb will continue to grow the same citrus while the rest of the tree grows its merry avocados. And sometimes, people graft ALL of those kinds of fruit to an entirely different tree trunk and have a Tree of Babble raining different colors and tastes and shapes and sizes of fruit down on them. Wild!

So if trees can have surgically added-on limbs, why can’t Fat Bastard have a surgically added-on self? I “surgically” (if surgeons used tooth picks instead of anything else) attached Fatty’s root system, which is the bottom of his stem system, to one half of his seed. It was the half where there was a freshly broken puzzle piece where he used to be connected. The two sides fit back together perfectly:

And then I gave him the jar with the Fattest opening we have, my favorite old glass to drink out of- the pickle jar.

I thought his antennae was a root that haphazardly grew when he had sunk to the bottom of his old glass. But while posting these photos, I realized I just smashed a perfectly good root in the wrong direction during the surgery. Oops.

It was all topped off with a cool bath in which he could feast.

And wa-la! Now Fat Bastard has a single mother. But he is still a bastard. No matter what happens, that will never change. That makes me feel good, to have some consistency in this roller coaster that is Fat Bastard’s Fatscinating Life.

I felt bad for his dad though. Lying there, purple. And I wondered, “Maybe he will get pregnant. Where does the child start and its parents begin? Is Fatty’s dad really his dad? Or his second mom? Or his brother? Or Fatty’s other butt cheek? Or ovary? Doesn’t matter. Let’s see what happens when he’s out on his own.” So I surgeryied him up, and gave him his own jar. Who knows? Please be gentle and welcoming for this old friend who is traveling the world in a new way, as Half Bastard: