inspirational.

The Nature of the Fat Bitch

Fatasses have never failed to surprise me. On a daily basis, I am constantly reassessing my beliefs and perceptions regarding fat culture and the fat world because, as one fatass has consistently proven to me, the nature of the fat bitch cannot be controlled or contained—he transcends natural law. Who is that fatass you ask? Me.

There is no doubt about it that nature works in mysterious ways, however there are certain rules, biological processes and natural phenomena that govern human behavior and thought. To a certain extent there is logic and order. However, when a fatass consumes so much to the point of puking, only to hit up Arby’s for a steak sandwich minutes later… where is the logic in that? When a giant whale of a bitch falls over and can’t get up without the help of a random bystander yet continues to order the Double Cheeseburger Meal every day for lunch… where is the logic in that? For fatties, there is no order; we don’t abide by any rules. We do what we want. We are above the law.

Particular to college students—stress is a condition that plagues millions and drives them to seek peace in the comforts food brings. During this past finals week I ate an inordinate amount of food and exhibited gluttony beyond description. The longest grocery list ever written would pale in comparison to the list of goods that I forced down my throat as an alternative to studying. I brought a whole new meaning to the phrase “cramming before finals.”

Now if there’s one thing I learned from watching Kirstie Alley’s Fat Actress, it is that nothing—and I mean NOTHING—can get in the way of a fatass that has abandoned their dignity. So if you’re smart, when you see a sad fatty crying on a park bench alone with a cheesecake, you’ll know not to get involved. Nothing comes between a fat predator and its prey.

These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.

R.I.P. Yum Yum Donuts

It’s a sad day in America. The local donut shop closed today after 24 years of business since opening in 1985. What started out as Winchell’s and evolved into Yum Yum Donuts was much more than a friendly locale at which one could get their fix of cheap coffee, a bag of donut holes and a three-week-old maple bar—it was a sanctuary.

Yum Yum boasted like-bellied fatasses spanning countless demographics; including Vietnam War vets, crack addicts, prison escapees, plastic-bag-collecting bald women, and me! My friend Alex and I would spend HOURS on end conversing with the scum that loitered on the front curb about topics such as current events, politics, the best alcoholic drinks, and our most memorable sexcapades. It was these types of conversations that truly enriched my formative years and solidified my understanding of my innate superiority.

R.I.P. Yum Yum Donuts.

These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.

The Magic of Microwaveables

This morning as I nursed my hangover from last night’s Taco Bell binge with a Jimmy Dean sausage and egg breakfast croissandwich, I thought to myself, “Wow… How did fatasses EVER get by in a world without the magic of microwaveables?” This generation has been blessed with the availability of such quickie treats as Easy Mac, TV-dinners, pot pies, Spaghetti-O’s, and taquitos--all of which are now considered essential components of the Fatass Food Pyramid and made possible by the microwave oven. That old cheeseburger you found in your purse? Quick 30 second zap in the microwave and yes! Good as new! And don’t you DARE pretend like we haven’t all been there. Let’s be real you fat slut, you know you couldn’t survive your day-to-day if it weren’t for those Trader Joes microwaveable appetizers. They’re perfection.

There are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.

Spring Break 2010, no regrets!

It’s Spring Break 2010 and this fatass is ready to party! And by party obvi I mean get drunk and eat everything in the kitchen.

Let’s do a quick recap to get us all up to speed, yesterday I ate 2 ice cream sandwiches, 1 chocolate dipped banana, 1 bag of sweet potato chips, 6 vanilla meringue puffs, 3 separate dinners and let’s be real this BARELY scratches the surface—oh wait, yeah and I just remembered: I grabbed my third ice cream sandwich in a 24-hour period around 3am--that’s gotta be a record. It’s after a day like this that one starts to rethink the decisions they have made in life.

I thought a diet would be a good solution to control this rampant fatassery, but its only 4pm and I’ve already turned down a trip to In N Out and a donut run. My resistance is worn down for the day. The next proposal I receive for a fast food treat and I’m out the fuckin door. So starting a diet during spring break just isn’t feasible. And hey, I’m on vacation. I do what I want. HOWEVER, it is getting dangerously close to swimsuit season. And if I don’t want yet another summer of screaming civilians scrambling down the beach to get away from me as I peel off my triple-XL t-shirt and roll into the surf, it’s either time to staple my mouth shut or find a healthy hobby like developing an eating disorder.

Spring Break 2010, no regrets!

These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.

Happy Holidays, Pt. 3: The Recovery

The decorations are put away. The candy has been eaten. I've gnawed the leftover ham until only the bone was left and I couldn't POSSIBLY cram one more fucking tupperware container into the fridge. In other words, the holiday season is officially over.

Now that we have all gained 30 pounds and are hiding our unsightly flaps, folds, and rolls under our largest sweaters, we are suddenly ecstatic about the cold weather. What used to be "Fuck, it's cold!" has gradually morphed into "lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Because HEAVEN FORBID it gets warm enough outside to wear a t-shirt. Yep, it's back to the gym for all us fatties who have let ourselves go for the past couple months (and thank god for those little TVs they've got in front of the treadmills now, I gotta catch up on my Jersey Shore).

This is a special time of year I like to refer to as "The Recovery." Our walking pace has slowed, our running shoes have collected cobwebs, and our dignity is nowhere to be found. You know what I say? I say it's high time we rebound out of this season of perpetual binging and get back into the groove! But... well, wait a sec... is that so-called 'groove' really any different than the holiday feasting and non-stop fatassery? Isn't it anytime of year one can find me scarfing down a Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger, large fry and chocolate shake, only to hold me over for the drive to Taco Bell? I mean let's be real, that fucking Chalupa Meal has my name ALL OVER IT. All day. Every day. Eat great. Even late. Oh and don't forget the crunchwrap! ...What? Oh right, mild sauce, please.

I'm sorry, I don't know what I was talking about. The holiday season is not much different at all from the rest of the year. For the fatasses anyway. *Sigh* I suppose the only difference is that eating is celebrated during the holidays. It brings people together. From Thanksgiving, to Christmas cookies, to advent calendars, candy canes, pies; it's all about eating! Why must the rest of the year be any different? Hmm... ponder that one, bitches, 'cause THIS fat bitch is hittin' the kitchen. Fuck "THE RECOVERY." Psshh... what a crock of shit. Don't mind me, I'm just gonna go microwave a pot pie and put on my new Susan Boyle CD.

Happy Holidays!

These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.

Happy Holidays, Pt. 2: Advent Calendars

Who ACTUALLY eats advent calendars the right way? I mean let's be real for a sec, one measly chocolate Jesus or whatever per day never got anyone anywhere. All the fatasses know that eating the entire calendar in one sitting is the only way to play the game.

These are the Confessions of a Fat Bitch.