Written by Monkey Woods
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Tags: Fat, Obesity

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

image for Fat Birds - Have They Got It Right? Not her, but you get the general idea

Overweight females - they're horrible, aren't they? Flabby, unkempt, stinking and sweaty armpits, sagging breasts and with puffed-up faces like hamsters with a stuffed pouch, just some of the undesirable attributes a fat bird can claim as her own, as she sidles along through her sad life munching Mars Bars as if they were going out of fashion.

But wait just a minute. Before we go judging these poor unfortunate monstrosities on their rotundity and ugliness alone, let's take a small step backwards and examine the world of the Fat Bird with a bit closer scrutiny.

The incident I am about to relate to you is absolutely true in every detail, and the tale as a whole should serve as a stark warning to those readers who think that fat lasses are nothing but beached whales, left on the shore to rot and decay by the entire male population, who wouldn't touch them with a harpoon, let alone a barge pole.

Earlier this week, as I walked merrily home from Tang Hua Seng, I passed a couple of delightful girls who both smiled at me and then each other knowingly, as females tend to do when they are thinking about 'getting familiar'. I mused over this for a few seconds as I walked, but this beautiful image was shattered by what can only be described as a Major Disturbance In The Force, as a shape emerged on the horizon and approached me from an easterly direction.

The shape - almost totally blocking out the sunlight - was a Fat Lass. I could tell, even at this distance, that she was shuffling rather than walking, and her immense weight must have been a tremendous burden to her in the intense midday heat. The sight of her, alone, made me sweat.

She must have weighed more than 25 stones - more than 350lbs, if you're an American - and it was only possible to tell that she was female because she had attempted to hide her tree-trunk legs with the aid of an enormous denim skirt.

I wondered if this 'girl' had ever been kissed; possibly, I told myself, by her mother whilst she was still a baby, but surely never since. I toyed with the idea of how much money I would require to kiss her, but stopped this when I began to feel queasy. She rocked back and forth as she struggled along, trying desperately to maintain her balance, but then, as she came almost upon me, an incredible feeling came over me when I saw the message on her gigantic T-shirt. It read:

NO BOY NO PROBLEM

Suddenly, my animosity towards the creature faded away as I realised that she saw only too well that, despite the fact that no member of the opposite sex would ever be romantically attracted to her, this cloud had a bold silver lining, and that she was forever free of 'the encumbrance of Man'.

Not for her would the future be littered with the disputes, lies and infidelities that men inevitably bring. Not for her the botherations of fumbling and sloppy sex after endless beer-fuelled nights at the pub. No, she was content with her image and her life, her Mars Bars and candy floss, her ice-creams and Black Forest gateaux, her litres of Pepsi and gallons of Coke, and her nights in front of the telly watching all those failing love affairs happening before her very eyes without ever needing to get involved, to feel pain or remorse, or to sort them out. She was happy.

As we passed, her eyes met mine, and a faint smile crossed her lips. She knew what I was thinking, just as she knew what everyone else was thinking about her as she passed them in the street each and every single day of her life. She ambled past, however, with her dignity intact, whilst I was left with an empty feeling inside, wracked with guilt at my erstwhile loathing of her outsized shape, seemingly unaware that there was a living, breathing person inside it. I asked myself:

"Fat lasses: have they got it right after all?"

She was probably glad she didn't have to deal with people like me.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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