Self Loathing + Self Deprecation = Fat Bigot

I guess my last post was a little mean spirited and exposed a little of the fury that smolders beneath my dermis. My wife also mentioned that it was offensive to the overweight, elderly, the poor, people with tats, the hairless, and basically 75% of the population. So I guess it is time for a little background info about my state of mind and physical self.

I’m balding, can’t be helped. No reason to put a tat on a 14 inch arm. I’m mid-30s, aged like I’m 40+. Friends say I live in a slum, not going to change soon. I am like 75% of the population, but there is one item on the list that is in my control. I am a fat pig.

You may think that bigotry against fat people is reserved for the 140lb spandex wearing guy doing high knees after his morning eight mile run. It is not. My personal battle with weight rolls back to 7^th grade when I hit my pupa stage and my little pot belly began. Oh, I’ve gone psycho several times and lost weight, but I am in a cycle of gain and loss like few ever see. In my world, I call it cut cycle and bulk cycle, but really it is a mask for outrageous gluttony and my love affair with pastries, followed by extreme exercise and self loathing. So, I am up 25lbs in the last 6 months. I’m disgusting. My ass looks like Ricotta cheese in a plastic bag. My distended belly is reminiscent of Papa Noel. My nipples, which are now the size dinner plates, hang off of me like lead weights pulling themselves toward mother earth. The zipper tangs on my dress slacks look like they are in a serious game of “Red Rover” and my pubis lard is “Coming right over”. It’s bad, the madness has got to stop.

As my reflection widens, so does my loathing of the lard and the self deprecation begins. Then, by proxy, my universal fat bigotry oozes from my oily pores. Yes, I’m an oily one. But it works, at least temporarily. I am not the touchy feely type that needs a soothing back rub or a “You can do it” pep talk to get me motivated. I need someone in my face calling me that Michelin Boy that I am. I don’t always have a good friend around to fill this void (they tend to move away), so I have to self-motivate. As I hit the weights, I repeat mantras like “Hey Fatty McButter Pants, how about another rep.” or the always effective “Maybe you are breathing so hard because of the fat crushing your windpipe” or, my favorite at dinnertime “Would you like to shovel some more butter on that pile o’ taters?” This method always gets me a few more reps, a little more weight on the bench, or a few hundred yards more on a knee crushing jog. This is during my cut cycle, of course. When I drop some weight and my arms shrink to a hearty 13 inches, I’ll start another bulk cycle and will be back to double fisting bear claws daily.

So please don’t misunderstand, I know you can only call someone fat, lazy, and utterly disgusting if you are yourself…so get to work, fat-ass.