I’m starting to wonder if universal healthcare is a good thing, because it’s increasingly looking like fascistic state action is the only way to beat back the obesity crisis. With the fat acceptance movement metamorphosing into increasingly more horrifying forms, like this new Tumblelog about “thin privilege,” bans on large sodas seem like a damn good idea. If fatsos won’t put down the Extra Big-Ass Fries and lose the weight, we the taxpayers will have to force them to do it at gunpoint.
Want to lose hope in the future? Here’s an encapsulation of everything wrong with America:
Attempting to digest this photo’s awfulness in one gulp is just too painful, so I’ll break it down bit by flabby bit.
- Bitchy smirk. Recognize this girl’s grin? You ought to; it’s the default form of smiling for 90% of American women, expressing not happiness or mirth but cuntiness, which they mistakenly think is confidence. Ten dollars says Betty Blubberbutt here is on antidepressants because her parents caught her trying to slit her wrists in the bathtub (after spending half-an-hour squeezing herself in). Nothing says “confidence” like having to take medications to stave off mental illness. The worst part is that girls believe men find these faux-masculine rictus grins sexy, when all they make me want to do is face-fuck them until they tear up, then use their hair as a cum rag. And speaking of her hair…
- Skrillex haircut. When Roosh wrote about how a goodly number of Danish women thought shaving one side of their heads looked sexy (or even good), I never thought that kind of atrocious hairstyle would come home. At least I know which part of her head to not jizz on.
- Boob tattoo. See that pattern of X’s on her right breast? At some point in her life, she walked into a tattoo parlor, took her top off, laid down, and had some ex-junkie high school dropout inject ink into her sweater hogans for two hours straight. This indicates that not only does she have no impulse control (which is how she got fat to begin with), she’s a serious exhibitionist and slut too. Big boobs don’t age well; combined with Anna Assmaster’s already horrible diet and sedentary lifestyle, she’s primed for a future of terrifying Korean children into skinniness.
- Ice cream cone. “Hey everyone, I’m fat and I’m proud and you don’t like it, you can kiss my ass! I can’t help being fat, I have a glandular problem! Beauty comes in all shapes and size—OOOOH, cookie dough!” *slurp slurp slurp*
- Gunt. More than that, a gunt barely concealed by short shorts. She literally looks pregnant. By the way Anna, what brand of shampoo do you use? I hear it’s a real bitch getting semen out of hair.
- Massive, obnoxious purse. What is so damn important that women have to cart around those annoying oversized purses? Change? A handgun? A hardcover copy of Health at Every Size? When I go out to bars, all I need is my wallet, house keys, and cell phone. And look at those tassels. She might as well tattoo “ATTENTION WHORE” on her wrinkled, undulating forehead.
- No socks, stockings or pantyhose. I know there are fatty fuckers out there; are there fatty foot fetishists? A glimpse of those epic cankles and they’re off to the Pocket Pool Championships. Watch for bone spurs!
In short, nothing about this woman is right. In a functioning society, anyone who looked like this wouldn’t dare leave the house lest she’d be hounded and teased into either going on a diet or ODing on her mom’s Zoloft stash. The fact that Anna is not only out and about, but can strut around like she’s Alessandra Ambrosio, is all the evidence we need that our empire is in terminal, irreversible decline. At this rate, bestiality is starting to look like a good thing.
Where the hell does Anna get the chutzpah to stroll around Chicago in a streetwalker outfit that’s two sizes too small?
The answer’s in the post. Her picture has well over a thousand reblogs, with fellow fatties offering trenchant commentary such as this:
Don’t worry, my “fat and sassy little kitten,” surely there’s some beta orbiters somewhere who can undeservedly pump up your ego.
She can spend half an hour doing her hair so she can get an ice cream cone, but she can’t take the miniscule effort to not eat so fucking much.
So would mine. I would then wonder what I’d done to deserve such horrifying acid flashbacks.
There are tons more comments like these praising Anna for her fatness, her horrible hairdo, and her all-around assault on aesthetics and decency. It’s not until I’m halfway up the page that I find someone who dared to criticize her:
It’s a start. Watch how the hambeasts reacted:
Yes, Anna being fat does affect me, because under our Dear Leader’s new healthcare law, I’m in part responsible for paying her medical bills. When she gets type 2 diabetes, I’m going to be on the hook for her insulin patches. When she keels over from a heart attack at age 25, I’m going to be paying for her triple bypass. When her kids are born with severe autism, I’m going to be picking up the bill for the retards’ school where they can spend all day drooling on themselves. So yeah, I fucking care about some disgusting, narcissistic slore stuffing her jowls.
“HOW DARE YOU TELL ME I’M DESTROYING MYSELF THROUGH MY POOR DECISION-MAKING!!!!1″
Who wants to bet this heifer has “thin-shamed” her attractive friends? “Damn girl, eat a sandwich! Then you might actually look like a woman!”
The girl who wrote the above is soliciting PayPal donations for excess skin removal surgery. Do I get a free blowjob if I donate, or will your new BANGIN’ BIKINI BOD be off-limits?
Some more realtalk from another brave soul:
Also. Your muffin tops makes you look 5 months pregnant. Gross.
Oh no you didn’t. With this salvo, the fatty indignation went up to 11.
Yes, Anna is so unconcerned with what people think of her. That’s why she posted the picture on a publicly accessible blog.
“Cunt?” Das sexiss! So much for the sisterhood.
“I JUST POPPED A VEIN IN MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!1″
The number of people criticizing Anna for being fat can be counted on one hand. The number of people supporting her is too big to count. Who’s the bully here again?
It gets even worse than this, but my stomach can only take so much. And do you know what the worst part is?
Anna is likely drowning in attention from men.
Think about it. She no doubt has a twelve-strong gaggle of beta orbiters on Facebook who kiss her ever-expanding ass all the time, playing Compliment & Cuddle game in a vain attempt to get into her 4XL panties. When she goes out to clubs, she probably has to beat the cock posses off with a stick. If she has a boyfriend, he’s likely several orders of magnitude more attractive than her. During my time in Chicago (where Anna is from), I saw those kinds of mismatched couples—average- or good-looking guys with busted-ass girls—all the time.
I’ll bet Anna even brags about how she refuses to date fat guys, blissfully unaware of her hypocrisy.
Bashing fat girls is all well and good, but how many of us have taken the fight to the enemy? By not viciously rubbing their hideousness in their faces, we are encouraging fatties to blimp up even more. Silence implies consent.
It’s time to start shaming fat girls into thinness.
Every time you meet a girl with a BMI over 21, you must go out of your way to crush her self-esteem and make her feel worthless. Put a shit-eating grin on your face and ask her when the baby’s due. Point and laugh at her like she’s a freak at the circus. If you must fuck a fat girl, splooge in her hair and dump her the next day, and tell her you’re dumping her because she’s too fat.
You’re not a “BBW.” You don’t have a “great personality,” you don’t have a thyroid problem, and you’re not healthy. You’re a fucking revolting lardass.
Obesity is a disease of the soul, and the egos of fat girls have swelled to the point where they’re bigger than they are. It’s time for corrective measures.
Read Next: Fat Acceptance is the Future
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