Fat men are disgusting.
Before I continue, I’m going to say that all fat people make me consider anorexia as a viable lifestyle choice, especially when I see one scootin’ around on a grocery store mobility cart with a basketful of regular Coke. (Really? Regular?)
Of course that’s an extreme case. It doesn’t quite apply to shallow college students who’ll go for the hottest available piece of ass. No one goes for the fat chick hiding in the corner of the room, wearing the mentally scarring crop top.
Side note: just because it’s fashionable doesn’t mean you should be wearing it.
But notice how I said no one goes for the fat chick in the corner. I didn’t say anything about fat guys. Why? Because fat guys still get laid. Fat guys can wear shirts so tight that they make everyone around them sign a waiver in case a button pops off and hits someone’s eye. Fat guys can be the loudest person in the room and recite Jaden Smith’s Twitter feed from memory and people will either write him off as A. drunk , or B. just really fucking annoying. No one thinks “Wow, that fat fuck is one of the worst people I’ve ever met.” Instead it’s “Wow, that guy who made me sign the waiver and he really likes Jaden Smith. Weird.”
For the longest time I always saw fat girls as “Ew, eat less” and fat men as, well… just men. As long as your clothes covered your body completely and I didn’t mistake you for an oversized basket ball in an aisle of Dick’s Sporting Goods, we were fine, and as far as I was aware that’s how most of my peers felt as well.
Sorry guys, that shit’s aboutta change.
You can’t get away with being a blob and drinking Natty Lite all the time, because we’re starting to notice. Yeah, you can get away with it to an extent if your face doesn’t show it and your clothes are hiding your six pack made of cream cheese better than Leonardo DiCaprio hides his Oscars, but once that’s all off, you’re fucked.
It used to be that one of my friends would get with a heavier guy and it’d go unsaid. We’d talk about how he had a fetish-implying amount of bikini girl posters in his room, or how he took a giant bong rip right before bed and threw up in a trashcan next to his nightstand, but we’d never talk about what what his body actually looked like.
Not anymore. Maybe it’s because of all this obesity shit flying everywhere, or maybe it’s because I can’t go to the grocery store without being subject to this at least once,
we’re starting to judge you. Don’t think of it as “Oh they’re judging US now because THEY’RE just mad that they look gross when they’re fat! Haha, fat girls!” Think of it that we’re disappointed when we see a really cute guy take off his shirt and you’re instantly reminded of Jabba the Hutt…plus hair.
Er, for guys I guess it would be like Kate Upton taking off her shirt and seeing a giant happy trail that goes from her neck to her crotch. Yum yum, now you’ve got that image stuck in your head for at least 30 minutes. You can thank me later.
All imagery aside, I’ll drive this point home with something my roommate said last week. She’d just finished her walk of shame and had burst through our front door ready to take part in our usual post-drinking night recap of all the questionable decisions we made the night before. But instead of just joining us on our couches she screamed “HE WAS FAT,” her eyes completely vacant of any soul (I’m assuming he ate it).
“What?” we all said in unison.
“No guys, seriously” she said as she walked over and flumped down on the floor. “There was a point where I was afraid he was gonna at least fracture my arm when he rolled over on me sleeping.”
She then went on to tell us how—even though he had told her the pilot light in his house went out earlier and it’s 20 degrees outside—she still got a tsunami of sweat off of him and almost drowned midway through sex. How she took off his shirt and immediately, and I quote, “guess he was sucking it in all night because he looked like Mr. Tire.” How his dick, despite being average, seemed smaller because when he started humping her, his stomach protruded too far and acted like a marshmallow barrier. Then we all laughed and went about doing our typical girly shit like having naked pillow fights in a blow-up pool full of mud.
The point is, even if you’re just casually fat, we notice. Your gut isn’t a trophy to display with a plaque underneath reading “Best Tallboy Chugger 2013.” It’s more like a tombstone that reads “Here Lay 40 Baconators That Were Definitely Not Necessary To Eat At 2 a.m.” And it’s getting to the point where no one’s gonna fuck you twice because of it.
Not that fat chicks are any better. Seriously, Chipotle tastes the same coming up as it did going down if any of you are worried about what bulimia tastes like…just kidding!
(But not really. About the Chipotle, not the eating disorder.)
Rebecca Martinson is a regular columnist for BroBible.
[Photo: Andrey Armyagov/Shutterstock]
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