The Piss-Soaked Piano Pig I swear to god, I did not exaggerate the details of this pig at all. I get no pleasure out of jacking off over made up bullshit and it still shocks me to this day that people like this can exist. The existence of this piece of shit is one of the main reasons HAES pisses me off, and why I will never allow myself to get fat. Now, on with the story: When I was a wee shitlord in 4th grade, my mom had the great idea to enroll me in piano lessons. A family friend of ours had done the same, and recommended a teacher in the area who also happened to be the wife of someone in our cultural community. Enter Piano Pig, the teacher. Piano pig was this death-fat sized, wheezing slab of blubber who rolled around in a scooty puff. Its skin was so pale from never seeing the light of day that I could see its veins. It never wore a bra and what little hair it hat was pulled back in a greasy bun. Its teeth were stubby and gray. Every time it leaned over me to demonstrate how to play the keys, I'd have to hold my breath to avoid the stench of urine emanating from its diaper. Its hands would shake like it had fucking Parkinson's as it played (it didn't, I think it just couldn't hold its weight up and play at the same time) so I'd have to guess how I was even supposed to play the songs. Its breath was absolutely rancid and I could smell it even if all it did was breathe a little harder than normal. It couldn't speak without coughing and routinely coughed directly on my face while I'd just hold my breath and grimace. But that was just its appearance. It treated its handlers like shit, and every time it needed its son to get something, it would shamelessly wage an angry shouting match across the house. Its husband was active in our local community but it rarely ever left the house to go with him anywhere. And the house itself? Ugh, it's house was dark, dingy, and appeared to have been uncleaned for a solid decade. It had cats (of fucking course) so the scent of piss reeked throughout the house. Even its apparently beloved piano keys were yellowing and dirty. My mother would have to sit behind us in a chair during the lesson and always sat uncomfortably on the edge to avoid the putrid cat hair and piss that had been stewing in there. I had to learn piano from this fat fuck every single week for years. It couldn't even answer the door when we arrived, it was always her son or husband who had to get it. Despite its terrible teaching skills and hygiene, I did manage to push myself to learn and became decent at it for a while. However, this didn't last very long as its ability to teach continuously deteriorated and my patience with the lessons grew thin. My mother, I think, was too polite to unenroll me and get another teacher. I asked her recently why I was forced to sit there in that disease trap every week and apparently she "felt bad" for it. There was no purpose to its existence anymore except to desperately clings to its glory days of piano and stuff its gullet. It died a while back. I didn't bother going to its funeral and I think people only attended for her husband's sake, rather than to actually mourn her. Fat privilege is being so pathetically disgusting that a parent actually pays you to subject their child to you instead of a more competent teacher, because they "feel bad" for you.