Whenever fat people throw pity parties for themselves and request sympathy for the hardships of their condition - or even worse, get upset and defensive over everyone ‘judging’ them - I like to pretend they’re actually haranguing a group of starving African children.
Cheer the hell up. If you suffer a disease that a large portion of mankind can’t even afford to inflict upon themselves, my compassion, patience and understanding only extend so far. ‘Too much food’ is a problem that some people can only dream of. My heartstrings would sooner be tugged by Donald Trump’s tax troubles.
Now if you will excuse me, I’m off to the homeless shelter to complain about my average internet speed, the declining quality of subscription television, and how the jumper my Mum bought me chafes the back of my neck a little.
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