Ummmm.....yeah....so this how you become a Supermodel in an instant...know a great graphic artist! I prefer fat but it's fun to play around!

Fat Broke

As a SIF, I break all the rules. You only have to look as far as my last post...I used the "F" word and referenced buggars...all whilst hacking up a lovely Christmas Carol. It's just what I do. I take the "norm" and fatten it up a bit. I'm good at it...like it or not. We all pick our nose...even Santa. I can't help it if that particular piece of gossip didn't make the lyrics, but trust me, even Santa gets his dirty on. Furthermore, whilst I don't like using the "F" word in non verb form, when I'm hard pressed for a rhyme, I do what I gotta do. There, the guilt of my "Caroling" has left the building. The only person that blasted me was my Mother....for using the "F'" word of course. She still thinks I'm a virgin. Sorry Maa. Whilst I'm not clear on how long it's been since my initial deflowering, or his name or what he looked like... I'm quite sure I thought I would marry him. That counts right? Um...yeah...on to the business at hand....fat and broke...

It would stand to reason that if one didn't have alot of money, one would be thin, right? Wrong! Have you seen the clientele at Walmart?! Yes, I shop at Walmart. Leave it to the Culinary King himself, Ronaldo McDonald to help out the less fortunate by providing a simple solution for the low budget hungry types like myself. I give you the $1 menu. Clearly one of the greatest inventions....EVER! A family of 12 can eat for like $2...for 4 days...all at the expense of their arteries. But when you're broke there are two things that are always for sale: Your soul and your arteries! It's just how it is. Now, I love me a cheeseburger but DAMN...a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese for a $1! For those of you who were held back in kindergarten, allow me to break this down for you....A Double Quarter Pounder for $1 in "Fatty" translates as follows: Double = more. More = value. Quarter Pounder = quarter of a pound...that's less than half so it's like...portion control. $1 = all of the change from husbands pants...so free. You see, fast food requires fast thinking. Add to that an entire menu of fine dining for $1 and you've gotta make some quick decisions. No time for putting sentences together...Double Quarter Pounder with cheese...that's so 1st grade and not for nothin...there aint even no verb in there. I got schoolin. I'm not suggesting that $1 for all of that meat isn't a deal... it's a deal until it shows up on your ass! I prefer the 2 cheeseburger meal myself. It'll cost you a few bucks more but the trickery of eating 2 little cheeseburgers instead of one huge cheeseburger that barely fits in your mouth...it's...well it's basically the same....it just looks and sounds better. Not to mention you can always pretend that you are taking one of the burgers to someone back at the office....yeah right! Not only does no such person exist, that cheeseburger won't outlast the parking lot. So there are some dangers in non-$1 menu selections but looks are way more important in these situations. So is hiding. Here's the hidden danger in cheap food: recognition by said shift workers. I always feel like I have to explain why I'm back...again. There's Mc'Muffin Monday, Two Cheeseburger Tuesday, Western Wrap Wednesday, Two Cheeseburger Thursday and my personal favorite....French Fry Friday! So I've got a reason to be there but it just gets weird when there's direct eye contact. Hence, the new shades.

Another trick of the down at out whilst patronizing McDonald's...the peely game piece thingies. Sometimes the fatty crowd gets soo excited to eat that we forget there is free food amongst us. Granted it's usually trash like "free small fries" but 6 or 8 of those are you're in business! You have to order the large size stuff to get the peely things to win the small fries, but it's not like ordering small was on the agenda anyway. I like waiting for the skinnies to throw out their trash bcs they NEVER remember to look at the peely things. Oh I'll jump in a trash can for some free shit. Hells ya! One foot in the garbage...one foot in the grave. Here's something only a classy fatty will admit...when you are broke and hungry it's best to eat at home. Why? Random grunting. If you've ever sat next to an obese person that's missed a meal (defined as more than 3o minutes without eating), you know what I'm talking about. There's this noise that resonates from their being that should be outlawed in all 50 states. It's an audio visual nightmare. It sounds like a hog feeding as seen on Animal Planet and it looks like something from Dirty Jobs on the Discovery Channel. Time to turn off the "TV" and get your shit to go....oookkkay! I eat at home for one reason. Well maybe two: 1. If you didn't see it it didn't happen and 2. I tend to bite my lip when I eat...excitement. Exiting the building with salty, bloody lips whilst pieces of napkin hold what little dignity I have left together...yeah....more than enough reason to use the drive through. *Random sign of the cross**

So why am I at McDonald's when I should be cooking healthy food at home? *Pause for laughter* So many reasons so little time. I'll stick with the theme...food is expensive. Let me give you my fiscally economic budgetary breakdown: 2 Quarter Pounders with Cheese = $2. You can't even buy 1/2 pound of ground beef without getting another 1/2 pound that you don't want thus forcing you to pay $4 for more meat than you need...and then you gotta cook that shizzle yo self! I aint even addin in the cheese. I think that makes me fiscally conservative. Can't be sure. Here's another example of why eating crap is all the rage amongst the poor....have you ever compared the price of Cheerios to the price of Fruity Pebbles? Uhuh. If it's whole grain it's a whole lotta money! Sugas cheap! $4 for a quart of fresh strawberries or $1 for a strawberry pie fully cooked and ready to be eaten in the car? The choices is clear. There's another Pioneer amongst us that is to the grocery store what Ronaldo is to fast food....I give you Lil' Debbie. *Pause for moment of silence.* Without this $1 version of Betty Crocker I dare say I'd never have a baked good in my home. Nutty Buddies, Ding Dongs....the bitch does it all! She's a SIF for sho! Hell she even bakes season appropriate goodies. Yup. Right around November the Ho's Ho's start showin up with red filling. I hope to meet her someday.

Let's recap....poor people are fat bcs: They shop at Walmart, eat at McDonald's and idolize Lil' Debbie. Seems to me it's a cultural thing. We should really feel sorry for rich people. They pay more and get less. Rich people eat rich food and claim that it fills them up faster. I got news for ya, if it only "comes" at a great expense, makes you think you are satisfied when you aren't and leaves you with a false sense of happiness....I do believe you may have eaten a man! Stick that in Pomme Frites and dip it!

Christmas...Fatty Style

So I've made an executive decision....since getting in the mood does me little to no good, I'm getting into the spirit....specifically the Christmas spirit. From now until Christmas, as the spirit moves me, I will slaughter traditional Christmas stories/songs for my amusement. Tis the season for the truth...

Twas the night before a Fatty Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the house, the fatties were stirring popping seams on their blouse.

Their stockings were hung by the new Frigidaire, in hopes St. Nicholas would be bringing eclairs.

Then what to their sugar filled eyes did appear, a miniature Santa and eight plus sized reindeer.

A skinny ass Santa, what a cruel trick, they knew in an instant he must be a dick .

As reindeer go they pretty much sucked, they listened to him shouting knowing they were fucked.

Up to the housetop the reindeer did fly, sucking and tucking holding onto their thighs.

Down the chimney he came looking so mean, dressed in all fur like a Santa Drag Queen.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, rationing candy like a skinny ass jerk.

And laying his finger deep inside his nose, he pulled out a buggar that rivaled a hose.

I heard him exclaim as he hid it from site,"I'd leave you this buggar but it wouldn't be right. "

A Big Fat Lie...

Tis' the season for a fatty on the move. Wild holiday parties....shopping sprees....that's why everyone else travels between November and December. Me....not so much. I prefer to overeat/drink in the "womb" and I do my shopping online... it allows for anonymity when the numbers don't add up. My holiday traveling revolves around the gift that keeps on giving....my Vajayjay. Late November/Early December is when I head to the big city for my annual tune up. 5 hours of driving in exchange for months of riding. It's a fair trade off. I'm often asked, "Why do you insist on choosing a doctor that's so far away?" My response, "Do you service your Mercedes at Jiffy Lube?" Me either. Come on honey! In the grand scheme of things, it's the most important piece of equipment on this over sized frame! That thing harbors all sorts of magical powers. Not just anyone is qualified to work on it! Gheez. The way I see it, $30 (co-pay) gets me more action in 20 minutes than I get all year. And it's far enough away from home for me to enjoy it without making headlines. "SIF pays for sex." No one likes a scandal.

Add to the aforementioned equation one hot doctor and you have the makings for an all out affair. Except the part where he couldn't be less interested in me and he knows all of my dirt...and that my uterus is tipped backwards. That can't be attractive. Top that off with a mandatory weigh in, and it's safe to say the only affair we are having is the one I dream up whilst my ovaries are being realigned. However, comma, on this particular trip, the weigh in went from traumatic to tremendous without any help from me! Typically, I find a way to shed a few pounds before I see the mechanic. It excites him when the numbers go down and there's nothing like an excited Gyno now is there? Needless to say, he's very rarely excited when I come to town. In fact, I usually get the "Why aren't you doing your self breast exam/why are you soo fat" lecture. Why would I feel my own boobs when it's included in the co-pay? I'm just sayin is all. As far as why I'm soo fat....because I like to eat. It's really quite simple. I usually try and spice it up a bit with some tears and a random fake story to make him feel sorry for me. Last year's Emmy Nominated performance was, "I eat because I'm unhappy. I'm afraid if I was happy I'd be thin. Thin chicks are annoying and I don't want to be annoying. They also have way better lives. Starting over at my age is out of the question. Brad Pitt is already spoken for. I've missed my window. Besides...I rock miserably fat like no other." To that I usually get an extra squeeze on the ole saline sacks. Damn I'm good.

Before I get to the weigh in, I have to back up. Part of the allure of traveling is eating out. Having a legitimate excuse to eat at McDonald's is always better than my usual excuse, "Because I like the fries." On the way out of town I stopped by to pay a visit to an old friend...Ronald McDonald. As I was shoving Mc'loveliness down my throat, my phone rang. Damn! Why do people always call when I'm eating....umm maybe bcs I'm always eating. It was the Neurologist. No good can come of that. For him, I set down the nuggets and answered the phone. After all, he might reveal that I was dying. I would then have the prefect excuse to eat myself into the grave. Little did I know he had the best news ever. It seems my latest test results showed that I have low blood sugar. Really? I figured over saturation to be the case. It seems my body just plows right through sugar leaving me famished. I knew there was a medical reason I was hungry 24/7....this guy is a freakin genius! The cure? Eat more! He said it... and I almost wrecked the car in jubilation! I love this guy! Personally, I think he was rewarding me for not wearing underwear to the visit. What? I didn't think he'd be looking "there" so why dress her up? I learned that all Dr.'s do 2 things: #1 make you strip and #2 weigh you. I'm OK with #1 but #2 is downright disturbing. I hung up the phone wishing I had more to eat. Dr's orders n all.

I felt overly prepared for the "Why are you so fat" question when I arrived at the mechanic's office. There was now a medical reason for my insane obesity. My body needed a constant stream of everything to do anything....something like that. Imagine my surprise when "Dumb Nurse" came out to get my vitals. "Dumb Nurse" is the one I get about every other visit. I had lost track between her and "Mother Time"--she's no less than 156 years old and I get no benefit from her bad vision. That bitch can read a scale! Anyway, "Dumb Nurse" is sweet and....well dumb. She's so busy asking you about things that don't matter that she forgets about things that DO matter...like oh say your blood pressure and weight! But she sure knows where you are spending Christmas! After removing everything but my kidneys, I got on the scale. I knew the number, so I watched to see if maybe my scale was off by a few hundred pounds. No such luck. They use one of those old scales with the sliding bar and I find it doesn't err in my favor. As I turned to dismount the slaughter box I heard "Dumb Nurse" announce my weight to be 10 lbs lighter than what the scale actually said. I didn't think much of it considering her title. So I proceeded to the little white room to don the lovely paper robe that barely covers half a butt cheek. Luckily the damn thing ties in the front. I don't look so bad from that angle. I paid good money to look better up there...oookay! Anyway, the Dr. came in and said the following, " I am so proud of you!" My immediate thought was that he was finally coming around and this was his attempt to show interest. "Why," I asked. "You lost 10 lbs," he exclaimed! Oh good Lord. He went on to ask what I attributed my weight loss to. Ummm....your dumb ass nurse! That seemed harsh so I went with running....lots of running. "No changes in your eating," he asked. "Nope, not one single change." That would be the only factual part of our conversation that day. I wanted him to have his moment. Come on....I'm not gonna lose 10lbs again for at least 2 more years when "Dumb Nurse" comes back on rotation!

As he rearranged my innards, he reassured me that I had perfectly normal anatomy. Perhaps in my girly cavern, but behind that uterine wall lies about 6 buckets of fries that don't look too pretty without a paper robe covering them! He told me my eggs were good for about 7 more years. Really. I told my husband that carton expired a long time ago. Won't be sharing that tidbit. I don't even like eggs. Particularly ones that like fish and produce problems. As he exited the room, he winked at me and told me this was my best visit in years. Why? Did my "shit" look that good? I guess bcs of the 10 lb weight loss "Dumb Nurse" hooked me up with. I wanted to be happier about the weight loss but it was all too easy taking advantage of the system. I did what Mother made me do whenever I told a lie...I went to be alone and think about what had transpired. I came up with the following: A. A lie isn't a lie if you aren't the one who started it...B. It's ok to follow through on someone else's lie to spare them their dumb job and C. In the last 2 days I was told to eat more and that I lost 10 lbs....HOT DAMN!

You can only imagine what happened next...I went to Dunkin Donuts to celebrate! Don't worry, I got the holes. A dozen of those are only like 4 donuts. I couldn't imagine a better road trip...until it hit me....Next year, I would have to lose 20 lbs to make up for the 10 lbs that I didn't lose this year! That is, unless, I could somehow find a way to get "Dumb Nurse" promoted to full time liar. So I decided to write a letter commending her on a job well done. What should have read, " Dear Nurse, Thank you for being dumber than I am thin. Please continue to be outgoing and blind. Love, 10 ponds Less." Ended up as, "Dear Dr. Hottie, now that I am down 10, what do you say we kick that dumb ass nurse out of the room and work on crackin some of those rotten eggs?" I haven't decided if I'll mail it or not. I figure I've got 7 years to think about it. If you're wondering if I make this stuff up....step away from the computer and wash your mouth out with soap. There are 2 things I never lie about: Weight Loss and Vajayjays'. I have learned that with careful planning, they can come at the same time.

Leave it to Beaver

Ironically, that's how I describe modern day Thanksgiving. For a brief moment I was under the impression that Thanksgiving...aka "Fatty Freedom Day" was all about eating and napping. I have since learned otherwise. Rest assured... I am no June Cleaver. In fact, she would be right mortified (southern English) to meet the likes of me! I'm sorry to report that I do not run around the house in heels, pearls and a fluffy skirt whilst waiting on men folk as they sit on their lazy asses. Nah...my version of "Cleaverage" involves sweatpants, a gravy stained t-shirt and lots of me complaining about having to cook all freakin day whilst the men do what they do best....a whole lota nothin! I can't imagine the Pilgrims were this chauvinistic...and if they were, at least the chicks got to wear decent clothing. Do you have any idea how much of me I could fit into a Pilgrim frock? Hell, I could eat for days and still look like a supermodel...being that I have such a pretty face n all.

Let's revisit my Thanksgiving Day shall we? I went for a nice 6 mile run so that I could add a few hundred extra helpings of....everything. That went well. I came back hoping to get a nap before consumption. Nope. It seems that if you have a "beaver," you are required by law to work on the holiday...as an indentured servant to the penis living amongst you...and all his friends and family. Not that that varies so much from a normal work week... but the part where I spend hours cooking whilst men sit around and do whatever it is they do...well... it's almost enough to set off a round of random bitch slappin with the pearls I wasn't wearing but was willing to put on for ammunition. Instead of resorting to violence, I did what I do best....I complained about it ALL DAY AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. June Cleaver would be right proud (southern English again)...you know that bitch would have thrown a heel if she wasn't so damn oppressed. I got your back gurl...and for the record....it does exactly no good to retaliate. Men don't listen....not even to a beaver. Only for a beaver I fear.

I shant tell a lie...Mother did 99.9% of the cooking....except the super fattening stuff which I had to cook bcs...well let's just say bcs I'm highly qualified for the job. My Thanksgiving table is all about starch. All kinds of potatoes, bread and basically anything that sets me up for my post consumption slar phase (that's a nap to all you non Conehead fans). I need to sleep after I eat. If I remain awake I might be forced to kill myself...for various reasons:

1. It would be an easy way to lose weight. After they pull out your organs, your certain to shed a few pounds . I've been watching "Dr. G" (medical examiner) to learn how much my organs weigh so I can subtract that number from the erroneous digits produced by my lying ass scale....clearly I have no control over how much my liver weighs so why should I have to take on the extra pounds? I shouldn't.

2. I would have to listen to dumb men yell at the TV about a stupid ball carried by more dumb men who are too dumb to work together as a team. Imagine that.

3. I would have to do the dishes. That's all I have to say about that.

4. I would have to be alive to bear witness to this atrocity again next year. It's more than I can bear...even for 4,000,000 calories in a 24 hour period. There must be a binge eating corner in Heaven with my name on it.

So as you can see, what should have been my Caloric Christmas turned into a warped version of what life has become sans Cleaver's. Maybe I should move to TV Land. Life seemed ideal there. The men work. The women stay home and bang the Gardner...I mean cook and clean... and the children are all well behaved. I wasn't alive when all of this "fake life" crap was happening but I can't imagine the women back then were happy to have "Man Waiter" listed on their resume in exchange for watching Days of Our Lives on the regular. We all know what was really going on...Dad was nailing the Secretary, Mom was taking prescription crack to suppress her submissive role in life and the kids were smokin pot behind the garage. Now that's the show I want to see! Can you imagine Thanksgiving in that household! Little Johnny would be eating all of the food and giggling uncontrollably, Mother wouldn't eat a thing bcs she would too busy running laps around the house and Dad would have to "step out" for a quickie business meeting around dessert. That's reality TV. I'm pitchin that one to the networks.

Perhaps I haven't done my job in explaining to you the rage that takes over my body when dinner is finished and the men just up and leave the table whilst the women fall into place in the kitchen scrubbing and slaving over dirty dishes left behind by the Ward Cleaver's who still think it's ok to "Leave it to Beaver!" Well this Beaver aint havin it! See that shiny box over there...it's called a "dishwasher"....she right sized my ass and I'm O'freakin K with it so go ahead and introduce yourself bcs you're gonna become right good (more southern English) friends when you are single again! If that relationship doesn't work out...I'll introduce you to my other friend "Dixie"- she's a real "dish"-- paper plate to be exact! She's less work....just use her and throw 'er out. Should work out well for ya! As for who's gonna cook the dinner you place on your "dish"...better call the one responsible for making you so "chivaless"...Mama! Perhaps the longest run on paragraph in history. Made possible by the penis...forgive me.

When all is said and done, there's always dessert. Like the icing on the cake, having dessert after a rage filled Thanksgiving somehow returns life back to normal. It's easier to make, easier to clean up and easier to throw. I would never disrespect a pie by throwing it at a worthless cause. I'd rather put it towards a meaningful cause.... my mouth...cause I like it! If you are under the impression that I'm a man hater who overuses the word whilst, you are wrong. The word whilst is a beautiful word, that sounds way better than while and should be used as often as possible. That settles that. I hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I did..in spite of my militant
anti-Cleaver views on the subject. I've moved on... to Christmas. My kinda holiday....fat man gets little slaves to make toys whilst random endangered species fly him across the world to eat cookies, drink milk and make Merry. Bout time a man did something worthwhile!

I swear I'm not a man hater...Thanksgiving was just a bit traumatic. If you are a "man fan" take notes and act right next year! SIF out!