Fat Women

 

Have you ever noticed fat women are never quiet and reserved? They're always in-your-face boisterous. They are never bashful, or hang back in a standing conversation, especially if there are men in the pile.
   If you start to feel up a fat woman, even if you never laid eyes on her before, she will just stand there - or sit there, they are usually sitting, and usually at the table - she will just sit there. At worst she will say "Oh you nasty man" while doing nothing to stop you or discourage you. Except maybe to laugh.
   The laughter of fat women rivals an abattoir for revoltingness. It's the laugh from hell. It causes vultures to belch up their food. It's a laugh that screams "I AM COMPLETELY UNDESIREABLE AND IT'S KILLING ME! AND I WILL EXPRESS THIS ENDLESS TORTURING ANGUISH BY LAUGHING IN AN ABRASIVELY RAUCOUS MIRTHLESS YELPING EAR SHREDDING ASSAULT UPON THE ROOM! AND I WILL CONTINUE TO DO THIS EVERY THIRTY SECONDS AT EVERY UTTERANCE FROM EVERY PERSON IN ATTENDANCE!!"
   Oddly, fat women are laughing even when nothing at all is being spoken by anyone else. No need for that, they will say something themselves and then laugh for five minutes at it. Just to keep the fatgal laughter going. "Oh look, I just leaked through my Kotex HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA isn't that funeeeeeeeee????"
   No. No, miss tub o' guts, it isn't. It's disgusting. Just like you. And everything and anyone involved with you.
   Tolerating The Offensively
Fat is something people who will not tolerate anything...they'll tolerate The Offensively Fat. And they won't say shit about it. They'll even have them come into their house. A Jew muslim nigger dying of aids infection, naked with sores, and leaking puss from every pore, they would blow apart with a shotgun if he ever tried to enter their house. However, Andy's behemouth wife who eats whole bison raw while they are still kicking and braying - they'll let her in with a cheery hello and then give the bathtub a hug and a kiss on the cheek besides: they'll still be hanging on and being dragged with their ankles scraping the carpet during the drag while Fatso is already on her way to the kitchen to open the refrigerator and the pantry to start separating the lard products from the water-based products while squirting a can of Reddi-Whip into her baleen-free maw to keep her strength up for the task. Then she'll pour the water-based products down the sink and pull a pound of uncooked bacon from under her mumu and toss it onto the stove while screaming things like "I GOT THIS AT THE STREET FAIR FOR 2 DOLLARS A POUND FROM THE HARRIS RANCH!! IT WAS A MASSIVE PROMOTIONAL GOLDMINE I STUMBLED ONTO!! I DON'T EVEN LIKE BACON THAT MUCH PLUS MY TRAINER SAYS IT POURS GLUTAMINOPLEISTOCENES INTO YOUR SYSTEM AND WHO NEEDS THAT? BUT I HAVE TO COOK IT NOW BECAUSE THE MAN AT MY PILATES BOOT CAMP SAID IT HAS TO BE COOKED AND EATEN WITHIN THE HOUR OR IT LOSES ITS SAVOR AND VITAMINS!! ANYONE WANT BACON WHILE I'M COOKING IT?" Meanwhile by this point in the fucking lying psychobabble the pound of bacon has already been reduced to an empty frying pan save for the layer of boiling bacon fat which she is pouring into a jar to take home to slather on next morning's toast.
   Having a fat aquaintance is every bit as irresponsible as actually being fat. Someone blowing smoke from a cigar made out of rolled Zulu feces into your face is less rude than hauling a fat person around for everyone to have to see. Sights can kill you just as quickly as smoke can. Especially the sight of a fat person. Once the smoke from a cigar is gone you forget all about it. However the sight of a fat person stays inside your head forever. You can't get rid of it even if you sandpapered your brain.
   Smoking actually has some advantages. One of which is it keeps you from getting fat. But being fat has no upside. It just has sides. Big oily stinky ones. Big sides that don't add to the comfort and well being of anyone else. Other than the pig farmer who is now selling a lot more product thanks to your swollen, putrid flesh heaps that have to be nutriated over and over with melted hog bodies. Hey fatso, you need to petition Congress to mandate a method to liquify herds of caribou so that you dont have to lose precious time cooking at the barbecue, you can just pop the top off a 20 gallon cauldron of semi gelantinous eland stomachs and push your face into it and suck away. Have a few people hold your ankles as the level drops so you can stay connected to it as you siphon-up the Marfak.
   Fat women are always excited to organize some sort of activity that will involve you and all your normal, sanely-sized associates. The assumption is that you don't have a problem being seen in public with a self-detesting fouly-shaped, sewage-scented silo. The assumption is that you are so lacking in self respect that you will allow yourself to be considered an indifferent wad of human shit that doesn't give a fuck that he has some pitching and yawing barge in his retinue whooping it up over nothing, talking about food exclusively or eating some when not talking about it and just generally making a commotion to hide with noise the visual fact that she is an obscenely gluttonous flowing, sagging, slowly moving stalagmite of a debris pile calling itself a human female and expecting you to do the same and to even hug it from time to time while it plants kisses onto your cheek from two fat, wet, writhing eel lips filled with crumbs and margarine. You're supposed to put up with this. And who would put up with that. Well you would if you are part of the vertical liquid lake's retinue of prideless freaks.
   Hey, I have an idea: let's have another 50 years of courtesy to these assholes. Let's have another 50 years of pretending that they are not feral pigs with no self control and no self esteem but rather have "an eating disorder" and not a a will power disorder. Let's just keep doing that. Because hey it's working so far and the results are sterling!...not only are there more fat people than ever it's now damn near impossible to exclude the blubberfest planetoids from your life. You almost have to be seen with them now. And all they want to do is eat. You can't engage in even a walk around the trashcan with them that they don't need to run into a fucking restaurant and sit for three hours pretending to be picking daintily through ten plates of ham and sipping a cup of coffee with ten quarts of ice cream in it. Food food food food food. It's fucking relentless. Your fingers fatten every time they fucking show up. Your eyes get puffy when you hear the first mindless, brainless titter floating across the atmosphere as they approach, anxious to hug you and plant a quart of flowing hot saliva onto your cheek because it's the closest thing to sex they are ever going to get from you so they play with their twat while doing it. They rape you with a fucking hug. You want to push them in front of a freight train, not that it would hurt them.