Ladies and gentlemen, I just broke a chair.
As I was sitting here waiting for inspiration, I took a good long lean back in my chair to admire the blank space above my monitor, and faster than you can say “ass over tea kettle,†I’m on my back, my form draped over the busted remains of my chair, a fat man on a fulcrum.
I am a fat dude. These things just happen.
As I lay, broken in body and spirit, pondering the structural integrity of bargain priced Swedish furniture, a thought occured to me. The danger of breaking furniture of any price probably doesn’t occur very often to people with “healthy†BMIs. There are probably a lot of things that don’t occur to them that may occur regularly to the calorically inclined.
Say I buy a dozen Krispy Kremes from some heartless fundraisers in the AQ and eat a few. Just a few though, I swear. I will keep the rest for later out of guilt. Ten minutes later, I think “Hey, these won’t be near as good tomorrow. They’ll be all stale! If I eat them all now and not have a donut for the next year, that’s only one donut a month. That’s pretty average.†I then proceed to bombard my pancreas with high-fructose corn syrup and my colon with saturated fats for the next 20 minutes, purring like a kitten the whole time. What type of mad man thinks this way?
Being fat isn’t just what you carry around your waist. Being fat resides in your mind and in your heart, and I don’t mean hardened arteries and a propensity towards stroke. Being fat is a way of life. It’s taking things in stride and coming out on the other side forgiving, but not forgetting. It’s learning lessons the hard way and coming out stronger. It’s spending the day looking for pants with just enough elasticity to be comfortable without sacrificing dignity.
Despite being a “growing problem,†the media presence of fat people has been relegated to ridicule and t-shirts denigrating our sexual desirability (I’m pulling for you, ladies). The North American obesity rate is skyrocketing with the readily available and readily delicious fast food. It’s the hot ticket, and hell if I wasn’t into it way before it was popular. I’m way into the scene and have the thighs to prove it. I’m not ashamed of my lot. In fact, I revel in it; it’s made me the person I am today. I say it loud and proud: we’re here, we’re near, and we’re coming for your cookies.
Having said that, it’s time for me to take my leave.
In the next year of my life, I am going to take the first steps to distance myself from the only identity I have ever had: the fat dude. Exhibiting incredible foresight, I’m leaving it behind for my health. My knees are my new biggest fans. I want to go from Seth Rogen 2006 to Seth Rogen 2009. But on my way out, I want to give a little insight into the unique challenges and foibles of the new silent majority, having a little fun along the way.
We’re all in this together. One giant, love-handled, man-breasted mass of solidarity. Over the next few weeks, I hope you join me in throwing a solitary sausage-link finger defiantly towards the rampant thinocracy.
Just as soon as I get up out of this broke-ass chair.
A moment of silence for the dearly departed.