Sometimes I Just Want to Punch a Fattie in the Face

Does that make me weird?

When I walk down the street, say on my lunch break at a client in a foreign town, or out gallivanting on the weekend, I don't want to see fat people. You make my eyes hurt and I don't want to be reminded of your inability to control yourself. Food isn't an addiction - being a lazy turdsack is chosen behavior. Stuffing king crab legs down your throat at the A-Y-C-E Chinese buffet by the 3lbs bowl does not constitute a disease.

That brings me to my next point - being fat isn't a glandular problem. It's a piling-too-many-raspberry-frosted-snoballs-into-your-mouth problem. Clearly I can't be the only American to understand this juvenile concept. Eat less, weigh less. I feel like I live in a world of monkeys.

So, behavior is chosen. Stuffing food into your mouth is a chosen behavior. Behaviors are alterable because they're chosen (see: free will). If logic serves me right, you can choose not to stuff your face. Perhaps even try a little chewing. Ducks don't chew, but they also eat bread and blow up. Do you want to eat bread and blow up? I didn't think so. (editor's note: facts checked for accuracy)

So next time when you're posed with a difficult decision of whether or not to continue being a fattie, consider this:
The average middle-class American does not want to see your fat ass walking down their airplane aisle, and it's not because his eyes are squeezed shut from praying you don't sit next to him, it's the fact that aside from a 6hour flight to LA with your stomach/underarm/ass flaps invading his understood armrest-boundary line, and into the personal space, your body odor is strong enough to knock out the whole left side of the plane.