Sooo this (didn’t) happen: Adventures In Fat Chick Delusion

“I told him ‘jump on the grenade’, not ‘strap yourself to the ICBM and ride it to hell’.”

Is this a case of a rare, genuine fatty fucker feeding the belly and the ego of a blustering megabeast?

I considered this photo and the man who is part of it for submission to the next Beta of the Month contest, but three red flags have me convinced this is staged (and thus not up to the Chateau’s impeccable BOTM contest entry standards).

Before I give those clues away, try to find them yourselves.

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Ok, here’s where the porkster failed in her mission to further a credible fat acceptance agit-prop.

1. The feminist fatty hashtags are too “on the snout”. No woman, not even a bitter disguntled obesity, will oink repeatedly on Instagram about “beauty standards” and “body love” when she’s just received an engagement ring, fulfilling a fantasy that most women hold dear since girlhood. Powerful feelings of love, yes real love not “body love”, will supersede a normal fatty’s political agitation programming, and the hashtags will say instead #justengaged #lovehim #imgettingmarried etc.
2. Whenever a woman starts a thought with “So”, particularly a “so” with three “o”s, it’s a good bet whatever follows is complete bullshit. “Sooo” is the shorter version of “No, but honest-to-God…”. Liars say this a lot.
3. Finally, the dead giveaway… any fatty fucker worth his blubber-induced boner will know that his porky princess’s sausage links require the dashingly-dilated, goatse’d ring to make it past the second pig knuckle, where the fat really starts to accumulate. Look closely and you’ll see her ring propped indolently above her second finger goiter.

Conclusion: This is a gay BFF, or a brother, or a deeply respectful low-T male feminist friend, conspiring with a fatty fat to help her collect lard-warming feelz in the fake social media universe. Is it still beta? Yes. But it’s not the kind of guileless, inept betatude that normally qualifies a man for BOTM candidacy.

If I’m proven wrong, that won’t change much. A fatty who believes her stroke of luck wresting a marital promise from the equivalent of a human unicorn — the fatty fucker who isn’t also a rotund beast with no better options — means that the world is filled with men who would shower love on her if only “thin privilege” or the pastryarchy would stop “telling them” not to, is still a fatty laboring under delusions of glandular.

Every fatty — and I mean every one of them — would experience improved romantic prospects if they pushed away from the trough.