Half a Meatball

I heard someone insult another person by calling them a “half a meatball.” This made me hungry and then subsequently sad. First I was hungry because the phrase “half a meatball” conjured up a scenario in my mind in which I had just eaten half of a meatball and was staring down the barrel at the remaining half, preparing to reunite the halves in my belly. But then I also imagined a scenario in which this guy used to be a whole meatball but then he was split in two and both halves took on personalities of their own and through a series of mishaps were separated, never to be rejoined, except perhaps in death. "Oh you poor, lonely, savory half a meatball, where is your beef, turkey, or tofu based companion now? Oh I must turn away now lest I devour you right here on the spot." This is why I hate unconventional insults; I have a poet's mind and I get distracted in the little world's these words invoke. The first time my mom called me a douche bag I spent months perpetually bewildered. I was enveloped entirely in wilder.