Came here to rant just about that. The fuck does "layers of meaning" mean? Meaning as in purpose, what those of us take for granted in our lives until we're halfway past on our schedules-until-we-die? I'd say that the art is fantastic in that case because the layers/meaning afterwards is a pile of crumbs and a hefty woman wheezing, aka this useless binge yields NOTHING. Maybe we need to drag femininity into this as well by having a fatass down cake somehow be empowering to women. Yeah, I'm sure that's what Susan B. Anthony had envisioned for the future, a world where fat women can cram cheap pastries into themselves... with the right to vote. Fuck, I'd be willing to bet that this woman was just sitting around with her posse of obeasts just cramming dinner while eating out at McDonalds. Obeast B started doing that fucking giggle that all fat girls seem to have (you know the one, the high-pitched one where they draw their arms closer together to try to look "cute") and joked about having desert, except it wasn't funny, and all of the obeasts nodded in agreement. They left the restaurant and headed down to the bakery, letting their van absolutely destroy the road behind them from the body scraping against it (I'll give you a hint for why that is: something to do with uneven weight distribution), then waddled into the bakery. The lowly peon at the counter, seeing an obvious business opportunity, started to advertise the prettiest cakes he had much to the delight of the herd who wanted to treat themselves for the 12th time today. They all ordered cakes, and Obeast A here brought a multi-layer cake, causing her herdmates to jokes about "not being able to finish it" (accompanied by that fucking giggle). Obeast A's expression turned smug, and she, much to the horror of the bakery staff, started to shove the cake into her face, getting crumbs and little bits of pink frosting everywhere. The other obeasts stared in awe, for she had perfected what they had dedicated their lives to doing, and the rest of the night was spent talking about how that was "so amazing, like art." Obeast A took the praise to heart, as absorbing any and all empty/generic self-empowerment bullshit like a gelatinous blob (as opposed to fleshy blob) is the heart of HAES, and started to talk to one of her more "culturally active" hipster friends, who made a few phone calls and now we're left to wonder just how much torque the great masters of the Renaissance are generating as they spin in their graves.