Checkin’ In, and a RANT about Fat Stereotypes

I’m just rushing out for breakfast but I wanted to check in quickly. I’m in ‘adjusting to world of pain’ mode right now as I’m ramping my fitness up by several degreees, thanks to learning that my knee’s finally able to handle an elliptical trainer at the gym. (I’ve blown it out a few times and “unstable” is the watchword. Elliptical trainers always had my kneecap clicking and wiggling by 5 minutes in. Did 10 minutes the first time ever last Friday and 25 minutes yesterday. Yay!)

And now my horrible right shoulder’s in its own world of pain, but whatever. I’ll swim tonight and then I’ll hurt everywhere, so the shoulder won’t seem so bad. :)

Anyhow. I don’t have a lot to say… when I’m trying to focus on one area of my life, it makes the other areas get a little neglected, like blogging. Blogging’s really suffering though because I’m avoiding writing the probing look at How I Got Fat that I’ve promised to write. I really want to get into the emotional issues behind being overweight, because I’m real fuckin’ tired of hearing all these “fat’s catchable” or “fat is genetic” or whatever other new “shocking discovery” du jours I’ve been seeing on the news lately. Simple fact is, if you’re fat, there’s got to be areas of your life you’re not happy with, and food’s filling the void. And you’re probably ignorant about how to eat properly. I really believe that, but I’m apparently in the minority, and because I’m fat myself, I’m probably viewed as a bit traitorial.

Whatever.

Speaking of fat, I wrote this rant yesterday and can’t tell you what provoked it because of non-disclosure agreements and all, but I can share the rant. :) Enjoy.

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If I have to see one more movie where the “fat” bad guy just sits around chewing things, his brain entirely disconnected to his mouth, and completely lacking of any kind of grace or dexterity at all, I’m gonna beat someone to death with a goddamned 48-pack of donuts.

Just fucking try me.

I mean, what, you hit 30% body fat and your brain suddenly ceases to function and bubbles instead with sugar-filled foam and vapidity?

And the fat guys always JUST eat. They’re always CSI exhibits of every fucking meal they’ve eaten in the last week. Yep, barbecue sauce crusted in the left quadrant of the (of course) horizontally-striped shirt, there’s cheese sticking out of their pocket, a donut’s surgically attached to the left hand until the guy starts chewing on his knuckles. Whenever he talks, his mouth is spewing food. When he chews, he smacks and sucks and slurps, as if making extra noise somehow conjures cosmic bonus points of tasty goodness.

I mean, how is the cliche fat-guy-who-talks-while-chewing-and-never-stops-eating at all funny anymore? Hasn’t this joke been beaten into fucking submission?

Yep, I can hear the joke over there now — crying out for help and whining about its inadequacy as it languishes in dark corners of unexplored creativity.

And what about the reality that most morbidly obese people tend to do their eating in secrecy because they’re so fucking tired of being stared at and mocked and humiliated? Like they just sit there pounding back their betcha-can’t-eat-just-one Lay’s potato chips or whatever, allowing themselves to be further humiliated and pointed at. Yeah, that’s right, they’re doing their bit to keep the rest of the world entertained as they sit there willfully eating everything ever placed upon this good Earth, oblivious to the snickers and derision being enjoyed by the onlookers in the food court.

Yeah. I’m getting really, really tired of seeing this stupid-ass writing passing as something witty and funny. Come on, writers. Cough up a fucking quarter and send away for that Cracker Jacks “how to be a writer in 17 easy steps” toolkit or something, wouldja?

Get a fuckin’ real job. Cliche-spewing dumb-ass hacks. No paycheques for you.