The Womb...

The place where it all begins...for most of us. I must admit that I've met a few people along the way that have made me question this theory, but let's go with it for lack of a better answer. When most people hear the word "womb," they picture a warm, safe place somewhere inside the belly...perhaps behind the 400 pounds of chocolate that most pregnant women consume. When a SIF hears the word "womb," warm and safe take on a whole new meaning! Only a true SIF understands how closely related words like "conception" and "consumption" truly are. Picture animals in the wild...the kind who eat their young. I've often had such thoughts. That is why I, in fact, have no "young." I can't be trusted around a fridge, much less a tasty little brat. So I've done the next best thing...I have recreated the womb to accommodate my needs as a fatty...without fearing the long arm of the law. Good upstanding citizen...that's me.


My version of the womb does not require a fish or an egg. I like to keep it simple. Martha Stewart agrees with my theory, by the way. Smart lady...except the part where her theories got her thrown in jail. Not so simple, was it, hussie? However, I have allowed her into my womb...even with a rap sheet. I'm just gonna come right out and say it...Martha and I are sleeping together. No, I am not a Double Whopper (for you new readers...that's a fatty lesbian...and I love the gays so don't go there). I happen to enjoy rubbing my ass all over her 50,000 count sheets. In case you aren't as smart as I'd hoped you'd be, my womb is in fact my bedroom. I realize that some of my readers rode the short bus, so from time to time I like to give away the answers to my blatantly obvious riddles. That's about as compassionate as I get. Moving right along....yes, my bedroom is the womb. It's a palace of perfection fit for a fatty. I've got cable, candy, cock and clothing. I ask you...does it get any better than that? Why sure it does...those are only the "C's!" There's never a bad time of day to plant your fat ass on a Temperpedic mattress along side 400 of the squishiest pillows you've ever felt whilst melting under dim lighting to hide the dents. As if that isn't enough to make an embryo jump ship...the piece with little resistance...I eat in the womb. Granted, no one feeds me, but I'm in to cross training so it works.

Let's do some quick math shall we? Wasn't my best subject in school but I'm gonna give it a shot. If there are 24 hours in a day, take away the 5 hours that I work (clearly an over achiever)...bababababum...that leaves 19 hours...and I spend every minute of those 19 hours in the womb. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Where else can you eat Taco Bell naked in bed while watching Fit TV? The living room perhaps? I don't think so! Aside from the fact that anyone who saw me naked would risk immediate death, the couch is leather...leather and a bare ass is not only painful but the acoustics aren't ideal for the gassy nights. It just doesn't work... under any circumstance. I also find the living room very open and cold. The womb has warm colors painted on the walls, expensive room darkening blinds to keep out the curious (clearly doing them a favor) and... well, the Rabbit. "He" is not allowed out without supervision. I have certain friends (you know who you are) who would take any opportunity to kidnap my purple penis of pleasure. Back off bitches. He likes the fatties. Yes, there are some draw backs to my womb. Crumbs in the bed, my husband, crumbs in the bed, my husband...you get the point. The benefits clearly outweigh the draw backs. I often wonder why it's so easy to get the crumbs out of my bed yet my husband refuses to budge? I can usually solve that problem by making him watch a few episodes of "Snapped" whilst giving him the crazy eye. Whoda thunk that antifreeze was the murder weapon of choice amongst housewives? I hear it tastes sweet...fatties beware! I'd much rather slip him Cialis and get a rise out of him....

If you haven't created a womb for yourself (and I suspect you have without knowing it), you really should. Every fatty needs a place to call her own. A place where she can binge, bang and belch without the fear of retaliation. I'm 2 out of 3 on that last statement. Someone once told me, "You fly I'll buy," whilst trying to get me out of the womb for a Taco Bell run. "That's a pretty good offer for a girl like me."---random Pretty Woman reference. However, not even monetary compensation can lure me from the depths of the womb. That's why they have delivery. Now if I could just get them to bring it into the womb all would be right with the world. Working on that....