>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
May 2, 2004

Those who read my column regularly (thanks Aborted Fetus!) know I have a tendency to poke fun. Political correctness, like math and intimacy, are not my strong suits. Basically anyone not exactly like me is up for some often evil-natured ribbing. It's not that I'm a mean person. It's just that I find humor in things you're not supposed to find humor in. I think the Black Eyed Peas' song “Let's Get Retarded” should be the official song of the Special Olympics. It's not that I'm a bad person, I just look at things through my sense of humor. It's my way of dealing with issues that make too many inane liberal cocksmokers soil their Dockers. That said, I think anorexia is swell.

That's right kids, from the team that declared war on the South and belittled the feminist movement to such a degree that women may yet not be able to vote in this year's election, comes the new thriller “Fuck Fat People.” This film is not yet rated.

America has a problem. You know it. I know it. Obesity. More than half of this great country is overrun by lard-asses waddling toward their next meal, and it's getting out of hand. And as you know, I am all about solutions, not problems. So this little proposal is my solution to the problem. That Dr. Atkins can suck on my South Beach for all I care.

Step 1. Stop making excuses. It's not glandular. There is no fat gene. And the donuts are not talking to you. There's no excuse for having the body type of a PT Cruiser, so save the tears for Maury Povich.

Step 2. Stop expecting the world to cater to you. That means no more getting a second airplane or movie theater seat because your ass can legally be declared a “district.” The world is NOT your oyster so STOP digesting it you moo-cow.

Step 3. Enough already with the diets. Especially this Lo-Carb dealy. And if you're going to do this diet, do us regular-sized folk a favor and keep your fucking mouth shut about it. That's all I ever hear with these Atkins freaks is “Ooh, I can eat the steak, but not potatoes.” “I can eat a roast beef sandwich, if I wrap it in a lettuce leaf.” I've had it up to my single chin with this. My dad tried and eventually quit Atkins, much to my mom's dismay, leading to this exchange.

Dad: I had to quit Atkins, because I didn't like the Atkins' beer.
Mom: There is no Atkins' beer.
Dad: Exactly.

These are my roots, ladies and gentlemen.

Step 4. Stop ruining fast food for the rest of us. First, it was taking away Super-Sizing, which was the single biggest tragedy of my young adult life, along with discovering that Katie Holmes was shacking up with goddamn Oz Fuckface Nova. Second, I now have to specify at Burger King that I want the Hi-Carb Whopper as opposed to the Veggie Burger with Wings you Atkins fucks get. Seriously, isn't fast food the reason you're in this dietary dilemma in the first place?

Step 5. Starve yourself. That's right. Anorexia and bulimia are just fine in my book. People like to tell me they are diseases. No, they aren't. Lupus is a disease. Anorexia is bitchy nonsense. It's one of those made-up American diseases we invent so pharmaceutical companies can profit, and we can stop focusing on the real problem—that we're just a pack of imbeciles. ADD, social anxiety, the inability to get a boner when you're 97 years old…these aren't diseases. It's an absolute travesty that we still have to deal with cancer, but some stool sample who can't finish her bean burrito needs desperate medical attention. Nobody's perfect, so stop listening to these asshole pharmaceuticals who profit by pointing out your most inane flaws. If you can't pay attention, you're just lazy. If you're afraid of crowds, you're just shy. If you're anorexic, you're just a fucking idiot. Now, are you gonna finish those fries? Thought not.