There’s no better way to start your week than getting down into the slop with squealing pigs, but in the porcine annals of oinkery this magnificent squeal must rank as one of the most try-hard, butthurt boar bleats ever to disgrace a social media trough. The title alone could convince the judges to give her straight 10s for porkingsthatneverhappened.txt.
I’m Fat And I Have Sex With Hot Strangers
Mic drop. Or should I say, meatloaf drop.
I could just post her photo and stop there, nothing else needing to be said.
If bed frames could cry.
This human-pig hybrid’s shrieking id is a sight to behold. She must have the fattest rationalization hamster in the known universe. (Obligingly, CH crowns her the Hamster of the Month winner.)
First, she tries to lull the reader into complacent acceptance of her wild claims to come by throwing out a morsel, or twenty, of preemptive candor.
I am fat — not curvy, fat. I have a fat stomach and I jiggle when I walk.
“jiggle” = flesh tsunami. Now I’m not saying she’s fat, but when she wades into the ocean Indonesians head for high ground.
Society tells me that this is a radical notion.
Did we sleep in class during all those years of stentorian Chateau inculcation? Society tells you nothing, moocow. It’s the God of Biomechanics who deems your lard disgusting to the vast majority of people. Even to fellow fatties!
It’s not. There are more girls like me out there. We just aren’t given space to be visible.
How much space do you need? The Great Plains?
I feel like I was put on this earth to be colorful and take up space
So were landfills.
and I am not ashamed.
Keep telling yourself.. and everyone else.. that.
We are told by the media that we need to live in shame, stop eating seventeen cheeseburgers,
That’s an oddly precise number.
We are told to wear something “more flattering” and “not to show so much skin” and “put your boobs away Melissa, you are scaring the children.”
Oh, I’m sorry, I would have cleavage even if I wore a turtleneck and I’m sick of trying to hide it.
Fat pigs love to assert a phony pride in their tits. But sacs of amorphous blubber don’t an attractive bust make. That’s not cleavage, Miss Piggy, that’s a sandworm lair.
My own father told me when I was 10 years old that no man would ever want to hold my hand unless I lost weight and stopped biting my fingernails.
Father of the Year. Not kidding. She only had to listen…
LOL@dad, they want to do so much more than hold hands now.
F YOU DAD, giving blowjobs in the dark to drunk losers is where I’m at now!
I am fat and I have casual sex with strangers, attractive strangers even.
That “even” is such a deadweight giveaway. Translation: once, a long time ago when she wasn’t yet fully fattened for the slaughter, she scissored with a lesbian who actually made the effort to trim her bush and shoo the parrots and monkeys out.
It was an impromptu mini vacation before I move to Portland to go back to school for my art degree, start a boudoir photography business and live amongst other body-positive, sex-positive women like myself and the beautiful beards that love us.
Who can tell parody from reality anymore?
I started swiping right on men and women on Tinder as I waited to deplane at LAX.
“Deplane, boss, deplane!” “No, that’s not a plane, Tattoo, it’s a fattie.”
I follow Amber Rose on Instagram and I find it infuriating watching other women tear each other down for what they choose to do with their own bodies.
The shunning of disfigured mental disease vectors is required.
I also find equally disturbing the entitlement some men demonstrate when a woman chooses to display any amount of skin or overt sexuality in their presence.
Men’s attractiveness standards are required. (Overt female sexuality is only offensive to men when it emerges like a reverse fat caterpillar from a size XXXXXXL chrysalis (a hard-shelled fupa).)
To me, being called a slut isn’t degrading.
The extra 200 pounds set her degradation bar high.
I see it as empowering and symbolic of me taking ownership over what I choose to do with MY body.
Stuff it full of cheap carbs until her days are an endless bloat parade of joint pain, labored breathing, smegma farming, and romantic failure.
My fat beautiful curvy soft body.
Ya know, slender women have curvy, soft bodies, too. So you don’t have that going for you, fatty.
Much to my surprise, people in LA utilize Tinder’s “Super Like” option like nobody’s business, making my quest for adventure that much easier.
Like pizza delivery.
Before I got to my first hotel I was talking to six or seven very attractive strangers.
“very attractive strangers”. The porky pig’s try-hard protestation is so transparent. Reality: these very attractive strangers looked like extras from the Star Wars cantina scene.
I have found that most men who want casual sex aren’t creeps or rapists.
Fat woman standards are very flexible, unlike their joints.
They just want to feel pleasure and make a connection however brief, just like me.
“however brief” 😆 😆
Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal. Sex doesn’t need to equal love for it to be mind blowing.
The grapes, they are sour.
It can also be about mutual pleasure and the way two or more bodies fit and complement each other.
with the help of a crowbar.
I have a pretty strict vetting process for picking up men and I have never had any problems.
“Zero alternative dating options? Check.”
I have pictures on my Tinder profile that are quite suggestive.
of a rhino birth.
If a man can have a normal conversation with me without getting gross and demanding, I give him the green-light and we keep chatting for a bit until we agree to meet up.
Men, you don’t need game to pick up fatties. You can talk about the weather with her, if you want. What are you waiting for? (“a hindbrain transmutation”) oh, right.
I find it’s easy to pick up on the entitlement factor, and that is a major red flag.
Total loser goes out with uglyfat, has the gall to think this means she’ll put out for parking meter change.
Just because a woman is showing skin doesn’t mean you have the right to expect sex from her.
That’s not why the losers who go out with you expect sex. (hint: it’s the lsmv corpulence)
Sometimes we meet for coffee, sometimes we go on an actual date, sometimes I go to their house and we are having sex within 15 minutes and sometimes they come to my hotel room at 2am and we bond over Louis C.K. and then laugh a lot and start going at it and it feels like old friends.
I.e., she has given up on the dream of love and marriage.
This bed won’t stay empty for long.
The chicken wing bones will see to that.
I had my own multi-city-state Slut Walk in a different city every night, with my mom staying in a hotel room right across the hall.
Ever notice the typical Slut Walker is the kind of woman least likely to have the opportunity to slut it up with men? Something else to notice: mothers of grossly obese daughters are so despondent for their child’s romantic future that any display of sexuality, however skanky and soul-crushing, fills them with pride.
Oddly enough, two of my hookups visit Portland rather frequently. Round two has been discussed and I am sure will happen at some point in the future.
The triumph of hope over pump and dump.
Each guy was attractive in his own way
All of the men I have ever talked to have been nothing but complimentary about my body.
Fatties will believe anything.
I have never had anyone see me in person and walk away or stand me up.
They spotted her on the approach and darted into an alley for a quick, unnoticed escape.
I am currently the biggest I have ever been and at the same time I feel the sexiest and most present in my body that I have ever felt in my life.
What a coincidence.
I am no longer afraid of my desires or being naked in front of others.
I own my sexuality and my choices.
So do slender women, and they don’t have to lie about feeling sexy.
I have a certain number of sexy individuals to thank for that.
And those individuals are Channing Tatum, Brad Pitt, and Barack Obama.
And no, I’m not telling you my number.
(it’s large and in charge)
Well, fuckin phew, that was a hot mess.
The purpose of posts like this one, besides the slaking of very special hedonistic and aesthetic urges, is to brutally shame these shoggoths off the internet forever. Their fat pride is poison, their phony self-esteem is propaganda, and their feminist platitudes are comfort to fellow misfits providing rhetorical rationalizations to avoid taking any steps to genuinely improving themselves.
Shaming uglyfats into oblivion is not just fun, it’s a righteous moral imperative.
Whenever you read some fatty going on about how much men love her “””curves”””, and all the “””great sex””” she’s having with “””hot studs”””, you’ll know she’s lying to protect her ego from the Day of Mirrors. There are no hot studs in her bed. She is not having any sex, let alone great sex. And she will never know love in the way that a slender woman will know love.
This is the message fat chicks should be receiving, loud and clear and continually, if truth and beauty are your scene. Anything deviating from this cruel to be kind message of realtalk will only increase and amplify the ugliness, of body and mind and soul, in the world.
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