PALMER ON PROZAC rants about..........


Fat people piss me off.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I know that there are some people with genuine medical conditions which are indisputable. I know, from personal experience, that nature can sometimes deal you a real bad hand of cards from the deck of life, and you sometimes feel cursed.

Throughout the years I've suffered a number of afflictions and I know a lot of people who are considered ‘disabled’ in one form or another.

I have a friend who suffers from terminal ugliness; another who has the most severe form of disability known to we ‘arty and creative’ types - that of being a curable romantic!

What I hate, though, are the lardy liars! People who jump on the bandwagon of those with undeniable medical problems (that’s real hyperbole - these tubby twats couldn’t jump to a conclusion if their life depended on it!) and forever spout all kinds of crap about how being a fat, useless lump of lardy tissue is not their fault.

No. It's not their fault, they bleat. It's their glands!


The corollary to this complete lack of even nodding terms with reality, then, should be, "And just how many metric tonnes of Glands have you forced down that great, gaping gullet of yours today, then?"

YES! The simple fact is - these people with an abundance of adipose are FAT because they haven’t got the willpower, wherewithal and courage to diet and exercise their sad, sorry butts. (I nearly wrote that they’re not big enough to admit the truth. Wrong, really: if truth was measured by obesity these people would be banned for life from being politicians.)

I get really wound up by their continual excuses - even when the subject hasn’t been brought up - about their size. Without any preamble they’ll start whingeing on about how awful it is that their size stops them from doing anything; how being a greasy, oily, oleaginous specimen blights their lives.

Well, if it’s so goddam awful, why don’t they do something about it and stop boring the shit out of people like me who don’t give a fuck about them, their excuses and the sorry state they’ve only got themselves to blame for!!

Yet more of the corpulent crap that comes out of their mouths - when it can find its way past everything going at a fair old lick the other way - involves how little they eat.

Glands again, you see.

They’re usually telling me this while they stuff the last of the fifteenth catering-size box of crisps, that washed down the eleventh packet of biscuits, into what nature provided them with as a serious challenge to the Galactic phenomenon of Black Holes.

They’ll go on (and usually on and on and on) about how they only have to look at a chocolate advert and they pile on the pounds. I suspect there’s a grain of truth in this, however. But if only they’d just watch the adverts instead of cramming the TV and the video down their grossly unctuous maws, they wouldn’t put on weight.

It’s a millions of year old law of physics that you can’t possibly produce energy from nowhere. Since matter - and they have a hell of a lot of that - is a more stable, or concentrated, form of energy, it also follows that you can’t produce matter, mass, weight, blubber or lard in any amount if you don’t supply the producer or generator with anything to turn into chunks of organic tallow!

If you take this excrescence billowing from their pudgy portals seriously, it means they honestly want us to believe that if they sat in a room with absolutely nothing to eat or drink, they’d pile on weight. If this was true, and you could produce something for nothing, the rich, yuppie bastards (other RANTS coming soon) who live on our backs for most of our lives would have patented it long ago.

I’m sorry, but cynic that I am - in case you hadn’t noticed - I don’t believe a word that comes from the obese orifice of any one of them who tells me, with a look of something approaching hurt sincerity on their wider-and-longer-than-normal faces, that they can’t understand it, as they rarely have breakfast and never eat an evening meal.

They only pick at their food - they tell me - they can’t understand why they’re so fat. (This, to me, is analogous to some bimbo telling me that they can't understand why, after soaking their head in bleach for three days, they're so blonde!!!)

I have a shrewd suspicion, but again call me a cynic, that it might have something to do with them eating the calorific equivalent of a small solar system between meals.

Or should that be ‘meal’? They also have an irritating habit of brandishing a Tupperware box with an ensconced lettuce leaf which they wave with smug self-satisfaction under our noses, as if this proves beyond all doubt that they’re on a diet.

I don’t like fat people. But I don’t let it make me bitter. I just feel the need sometimes to sound off because the feeling of pounding in my temples and the rapid hammering of my pulse is only overshadowed by the thick stench and acrid taste of bile swirling around my gums as I force it back down to whence it came for fear of it spilling out and making me take a baseball bat to the bulky flagrant abuse of humanity telling me they’ve got gland trouble.

Well, I might be a tad bitter.

Now, have I told you what makes me sick about pencil-necked, narrow-gutted little shits who.........


PALMER ON PROZAC is a freelance writer from Stockport, England. He is also the main author of this Web Site. You can see more of his observations and Rants on THE SITE FOR SORE EYES soon. His views and comments do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of the owners of this Site. When not being treated for rabies, he is, allegedly, a decent chap.

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