Okay, let's get past the body shaming bullshit right away. I don't call anybody fat to their face. I don't tell anybody what to eat or how much... unless it's somebody I love who is killing themselves, but then I'll only tell them once. I don't troll the internet making fun of people's looks... unless it's Donald Trump. I don't think it's my business what surgeries people have. Yet I do maintain that is my right to discuss such issues with other people. After all, I have nothing to brag about when it comes to a body. I know that I look much different than I did forty years ago. I know that my man boobs are the envy of many a young girl. But it's my body, and I am responsible for how fat I am. Well, me and Mark who has been shoveling all that great cooking into my maw for all these years.
On Sunday nights I like to watch my horror shows. First up is "The Walking Dead", a show about zombies that are out to eat every living person on Earth. I know that it is stupid. I Know that after six years there is no way that they could still have fresh batteries, and that after six years all the gasoline would have turned to shit, or that there is nobody maintaining those pristine roads with the manicured grass growing alongside them. I know that it's just a television show that scares the hell out of me and gives me bad dreams. The other horror show I watch on Sunday is "Girls". Horror, you ask? Yes. To a sixty six year old gay man, seeing an overweight, pasty young woman naked at least twice every Sunday, is horror. Last Sunday was even more horrendous than ever. They crossed the line from sensual, to downright fearful. In one scene, Hanna (Lena Dunham) had her face buried in the crotch of a naked woman while she screamed "I can't do this. It's too hot, I can't breathe!" Mark and I were screaming in terror during the entire scene, yet we couldn't look away.
Now television horror is one thing. Yesterday my friend Dennis and I experienced the real thing. While on our way to McDonald's, we turned off 26th Street onto Federal Highway. There, on the bus bench, was a three hundred pound plus woman sitting facing the highway. She had her skirt pulled up around her waist and appeared naked from there on down. It was a huge mound of pink flesh punctuated by some sort of blob protruding from between her legs. We both screamed in unison. It was only about a second, but it scared the hell out of me. My only regret is that Mark was not in the car. Oh, and the fat lady was not there when we passed by on our way home. I assume she caught her bus.