THAB short story

I. The Definition

THAB (acronym): The Hating Ass Bitch. An anti-superhero entity resembling a fusion of WordGirl and Wednesday Addams. She manifests wherever negative energy reaches a critical mass—whether it’s petty complaining or genuine tragedy—and proceeds to destroy the surroundings with the ferocity of a toddler’s tantrum.

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II. The Appetizer (Petty Negativity)

An uneventful day for a customer dining at a restaurant can be the same day full of non-stop chaos for the staff.

"Excuse me, waiter, but there is a leg in my soup," the customer stated, pointing his camera phone down at the soup and then back towards the waiter.

The waiter approached with a look of concern on his face, before noticing the smirks and snickers from the two men at the table. The exhaustion hit him all at once. "Look, bro, I don't have time for this. What are you doing? Making a fucking TikTok about me or something?"

"No, seriously, there's a leg in my soup," the man said, pointing towards the steaming bowl. Sure enough, floating inside the yellow concoction known as golden soup was the tiny plastic leg of an action figure.

"That's fucking retarded. Where did you get that?" the waiter asked without caring for an answer, reaching for the bowl.

The customer tried to explain it was just a joke and that he would keep the soup to eat, but the waiter was already past the breaking point.

"Yo, bring my soup back, man!"

"Fuck you and your soup. And fuck this job!" With that, the waiter dropped the blue bowl to the floor, shattering the ceramic and making a mess, before marching back to the kitchen.

"You're being a real THAB right now, dude!" the customer shouted as the kitchen door swung shut.

"THAB, THAB, THAB..." the man began to chant, eventually involving the entire restaurant.

Then, like one of those crazy online videos where cars crash through buildings during regular business hours, THAB—the real-life professional crybaby—flew through the front window. The impact scattered glass and immediately caused the place to riot.

"THAB, THAB, THAB!" they continued with their mob mentality until the entire block looked like a warzone.

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III. The Main Course (The Tragic Overture)

Restaurants are not the only place THAB can appear.

It waits in traveling circuses, beneath the giant carnival tents. It hides among elephants balancing on colorful inflatable balls, trapeze daredevils jumping through great rings of fire, and lions roaring at the spectators. It is there amidst the scattered peanuts and clowns with water squirting from flowers pinned to their shirts.

Eventually, the fair food and animal poop combined to form one distinct smell. That smell was the fuse.

The break point came abruptly. A peanut, flicked by a careless child, startled the massive beast in the center ring. The elephant reared back, lost its footing on the inflatable ball, and came down hard into the front row.

The music stopped. The silence was heavy, broken only by a single, horrified scream that sounded like a tragic overture.

"The elephant sat on my wife!"

It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a prank for TikTok. It was pure, unadulterated trauma. The crowd didn't chant or jeer; they screamed. They wanted to be a community, to help, to lift the beast, but panic is a selfish thing.

And that is the cruelest thing about THAB. She doesn't care if you are crying because you are a jerk, or crying because your heart is breaking. She only smells the tears.

Just as the man fell to his knees, sobbing over the tragedy, the tent ceiling ripped open. THAB descended, not to save the wife, and not to move the elephant. She was there because the vibe was bad. And she was there to make the tragedy a catastrophe.