Beano, Co-Worker and Baffling Irritant

I have a co-worker hereby known as "Beano" whose idiocy knows no bounds when it comes to anything not pertaining to his job. Though he often spouts nonsensical comments, as of late, it's really come to a head and I find that no matter when I see him, I have this aching desire to choke him to death. Here are our last 3 interactions.

Beano's been on a diet since I met him but continues to gain weight because he snarfs down 6,000 calories of canned fruit and cottage cheese each day and caps it off with a super-sized Big Mac meal around 9 pm. Fructose + McDonald's = Liberty Medical's Wilford Brimley. So three days ago, the office went through a "health fair" of sorts where our body weights and fat percentages were calculated with this water tank. The results were posted in the kitchen (which seemed harsh) and later that morning, Beano came by my office, wanting to discuss his battle against the pound. "Your body fat is impossible. And your figure! How do you maintain it? It's simply fantastic." I immediately felt uncomfortable and looked around to make sure a joke wasn't afoot. If he'd said it all with a lisp and his hands on his hips, maybe it would have been easier to accept but the reality is that he's a chunky butt, married man with a 5:00 shadow. In no way should "simply fantastic" or "figure" ever be uttered by a man like this. "I'm not 20 anymore. I need to work on my diet and really shedding a tire or two!" He nixed heavy exercise, so I suggested he stop pounding all the sugary fruits, opting instead for more fiber and balanced meals with protein. "Only squirrels get fiber. I don't want to eat a tree to slim down." I thought about making a smart ass comment but refrained. Instead I gave him some fiber options, concluding with whole grains cereals like Cheerios and Shredded Wheat. "Cheerios? Cereal is really fatty. Don't you know the calories per bowl? Why am I even asking you, Cheetos?!" No one's ever called me Cheetos before. He stomped out like a diva, wholly unsatisfied.

So yesterday, I was walking to my office when I passed Beano talking to a secretary about national ID cards. He was arguing for them and she wasn't sure, so they asked me. I shared my anti-ID card sentiments and his mouth fell open. "I should have known you'd be a fascist." I ran it through my head twice just making sure I heard him correctly and then said, "There are many reasons that warrant you calling me a fascist but this issue isn't one of them." He stared at me. "Do you know what a fascist is, Beano?" "I know you're a typical jock, so I know who I'm listening to...... and that's myself." He did the two "this guy!" thumbs at his chest and then told me I didn't know anything about politics and government. Instead of flipping out, I walked away.

So it happens that today, I had my third Beano interaction in as many days. Beano poked his head in my door and asked what I was doing for lunch. "I brought in this chicken thing. You've gotta try it." "Is this a peace offering?" "You can dip it in sauces. I'm changing things up like you said. Getting balance. Delicious balance." I was going out for lunch but I'm all about free food, so I went to the kitchen to check it out anyway. In a brown bag were 4 purple and orange packages; it looked like hot pockets. "Spicy Chicken and Cheddar-Jack Cheese" was written in a whimsical script. Right below that, in bold, yellow, block-lettering was "BURRITO." Also in the bag were little cups of salsa and sour cream. Dipping sauces. ReRe. I walked back into the main office area and said, "Uh... Beano. This... this is a chicken thing?" "Oh yeah, just discovered them at the store and they're really good, especially when you dip em in the dips." If I could get away from this situation without uttering any form of "fuck," it would be a successful outing. "It's a burrito!!!" Cue blank stare. "We had lunch catered from Chipotle last week and I watched you eat 3 BURRITOS!" It was like crickets chirping and then he had the nerve to get indignant! "Not everyone can eat Cheetos all day! Have a chicken thing and be like the mortals for once."

Fatty Cheerios. Fascism. Chicken thing. Fucking unbelievable.

Is it really wrong to strike this guy? Maybe if I do it once and then run away? Some form of violence really must be excusable here.