If you’re among the rotund and making efforts to slim down, this rant isn’t directed at you. Keep plugging away and don’t give up. No, this tough love session is for those porkers who insist their fatness is somehow a positive.
There’s nothing positive about being a chunk-monster. I speak from experience. Full disclosure: I’m a fatty. My footsteps register on the Richter Scale. When I sit down on a piece of furniture, it squeals in pain. I can tell you it’s hell, every hour of the day.
I make no excuses. This condition is entirely my fault. I’m not blaming genetics or some other factor out of my control for taking on the shape of a beach ball. I blame Fudge Rounds. They’re delicious.
That’s what separates us good fatties from the bad ones. We accept there’s nothing positive about our condition. We’re constantly looking for new ways of becoming less blubbery to give our legs and backs a break.
At no point do us realistic fatties throw up our flabby arms in defeat and concentrate our efforts on affirming to ourselves we’re perfect just as we are. Our blood pressure, cholesterol, and clogged arteries call bullsh*t on that one.
I can make jokes about myself and be self-deprecating because I don’t tie my self-esteem to my body mass index. I recognize my excess of pudge is a flaw, not a strength. Ridding myself of this spare tire is a challenge which needs to be overcome. For that reason, only blunt honesty will suffice.
If we really want to be “body positive,” we ought to respect our bodies with reps at the gym. Not reps of lifting multiple cheeseburgers to our pieholes. Maybe focus on extending our longevity, not setting ourselves up to be buried by a crane at the tender old age of 30.
The “body positivity” movement is trying to tie their fatness to their identity. As if us wide loads are some sort of community. Gathering for “International Order of Fatties” meetings at the Krispy Kreme. Demanding a “planetoid” gender identity option on our driver licenses. Flashing “fat power” fists at each other in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart.
So, don’t come at me asking my “preferred plus-size pronouns.” Though, if you must know, I prefer to be called “Your roundness.” I’ll also accept “Sir Flabs-a-lot.”
Some out there might think I’m being mean, but I fat shame because I care. Seriously. I show no mercy toward body positive douchenuggets because their misguided efforts are going to get people killed.
~ Written by Corey Stallings