Fat chicks are getting uppity lately. You’ve got your NAAFA (National Association for the Advancement of Fat Assery). Your fatkinis. Your slut pride parades aka fat slut pride parades. Your proud fatties wearing clothes made for thin girls. And pretty much an entire media industrial complex allied, in word if not in deed, with the fat pride/acceptance/delusion movement.
I, for one, welcome our new fat flaunting underlords. Putting themselves out there in showy, ritualistic displays of unmerited pride, their bulbous folds cresting like wind-whipped seas and their triple chins held aloft like war banners, makes for a tempting array of overinflated egos. Proud and loud fat chicks are the morbidly obese equivalent of the Iraqi soldiers fleeing from Kuwait: plump targets for my GPS-guided jeering.
As long as I’m here to protect the earth from the assault against beauty by the horde army of gaping pieholes, the fattie…
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