I have nothing against fatties. Honestly. Some of my best friends are friends with fat people. I recently started a job where I sit at a computer all day, and I can easily see how it could happen to me. I empathize. The intent of this piece isn’t to pass judgment on any individual from any walk (or in this case, wobble) of life. I just find myself growing increasingly weary of watching my Nation- a Nation that, once upon a time, exuded pride and dignity and performance- solidify the perception that we have gone from baddest to fattest. We’ve become an adumbration of Girth, Winded and Fire (roasted marshmallows). I find it especially disturbing that our government, and its bitch the media, are grooming an entire herd, I mean generation of Americans to be obese, desensitized, docile, complacent, apathetic consumer-bots.

The inspiration for this column hit me like a bolt of lightning one dewy dawn as I was out in the farmlands, people tipping. I remember thinking to myself “people tipping? This shouldn’t even be a thing”; but it is, because that’s how bad it has become. It’s pretty ridiculous when a homeless guy with man titties is hitting me up for cash because he’s “hungry”. I don’t think my spare change should contribute to his spare tire. It puts me in the awkward position of having to feel sorry for the guy, all the while not allowing man tits to be the reason why. I had to feel sorry for him in spite of that fact. Needless to say, it took some adjusting. A 12 year old boy should discover voluptuous breasts while sneakily sifting through Dad’s Playboy stash or while watching Cinemax on a Friday night, not in the mirror.

Furthermore, kids shouldn’t learn everything they know about football from Madden 11. These sunlight-sensitive roly-poly’s grow into the guy in the NFL stands that applied his fanatic body paint with a wall roller. The very same sloth that spends 3 quarters of the game shouting instructions to hustle at the conditioned, self-disciplined, pro-bowl caliber wide receiver. There is something bizarre about a guy with a double neck and every square inch of his blubbery, living carcass covered in multicolored paint- a guy that resembles a Mini-Coop with its rape whistle-esque alarm going off- warning a World class athlete that he’s “looking like a fool out there”. That guy’s wife would offer her chubby hubby the same warning, if she weren’t blinded by her own tears.

The real irony sinks in during the commercial break. That’s when you get to see these lean-machine athletes hawk beer and high fructose corn syrup to their portly fan base. Obviously, these guys didn’t get to where they are and stay there by indulging in these products as often as they would like us to. Thanks to satellite TV, which is also endorsed by people that are too busy being successful and productive to have the need for 666 channels, we don’t even have to leave the house on game day. We can watch others make the best of the green grass and blue sky. Get yourself a nifty HD 3D television, and it’s almost as if you were looking out of the window….without getting up!

I think that dead-weight-headed man-tard Hank Williams Jr. belting out “are you ready fer some football?!?!” personifies the media’s manipulated perception of the average Monday Night Football fan. The American Broadcasting Company sees fit to open football’s biggest night with a simplistic jingle, fired out like a cannon ball from a bumpkin’s gullet. They also see fit to choose the ramblings of a more relatable, all be it less coherent, John Madden over Dennis Miller’s scrawny wise-ass and his uppity vocabulary. I believe the most common complaint from the fans, about Miller, was that he was a “word fag”.

It’s a small for instance that’s indicative of a bigger, more dire issue. The advertisement-fueled media wants Americans to be fat and simple minded. Most of the tripe they advertise is unhealthy and contributes to our Nation’s ever-expanding waste line. Why raise the ethical bar by using standards and discretion when it’s easier and more profitable to bring people down to their level. Nine times out of nine, fatties would rather go down in an elevator than walk up a flight of stairs, metaphorically speaking.

Given that the media, the seedy corporate underbelly and our façade of a government are all intertwined and internally dictated; having a dazed and confused populous makes for less questions and less resistance. The final product is obliviously “happy”, power conceding consumers. Everyone wins. Everyone that matters, that is. Never mind the 300,000 Americans that will croak this year, due to obesity related complications. Good hearted folk that will have to be cut out of their clothes, and possibly their homes. They are expendable like Stallone. Whatever it takes to keep the wheels that run the capitalistic nightmare machine turning. The millions of overweight Americans that won’t die this year, might be prone to anti-depression pill addiction, due to their infliction. They advertise that shit all day long, as well. Bonus points for the guys pulling the strings.

By the way, in case you were wondering, having a limb amputated due to diabetes doesn’t count as losing weight. Also, junk food doesn’t make your package fatter. It just makes it to where you’ll never see it again because you physically can’t and no one else will see it because they don’t want to. Like I said in the beginning, this isn’t a forum to put people down- whether they be Jeff Ross fat or Ralphie May fat. I’m genuinely concerned. Resist is my message. Question motive and don’t let the bad guys win. They want absolute power over our minds, our bodies, our financial surplus, our free will- all of it. They’re tics, whose swollen pouches are filled to capacity with our blood. If nothing else, we need to give ourselves a flea bath… Shake it off… Good boy.

Resist. Respect yourself, like that rap group Ninja’s With Attitude told us to do. As Eazy-E always said, “to thine own self, be true”. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m totally going to fuck up an animal style double-double from In and Out so the sadness inside of me can pass out. Catch you later, computator’s.