After his father was shipped off to serve as biomass in the war, the Army paid for a life-size cardboard cutout replacement, reproduced from a photo. Cardboard dad wore his Friday-casual best. Cardboard slacks. Cardboard loafers. Cardboard outlet mall Izod.

Cardboard dad was a stay-at-home dad. He was waiting when they came home. If it wasn’t school or work or the water park, cardboard dad went with them: to the store, the dentist, and the gynecologist.

Cardboard dad smiled down upon his eating family at dinnertime.

After the arrival of his cardboard dad, he would only eat chili nuts. His hunger for them was never sated and his fingers always smelled vaguely of unclean feet, of dirt caught under the toenail. Crunch crunch crunch was the soundtrack of their lives. The chili nuts gave him gas. He was constantly farting, each one more silent than the last, each one far deadlier than the last.

He smelled like shit and his dad was made out of cardboard.

Audio

Arttu Tolonen: Chili Nuts (2.5MB mp3)