Dear symphatizers: You don't need to give them credit Dear sympathizers:  Relax. You don't have to give fatties credit. You don't have to give them anything, and if you did, they'd just eat it.  Fat people are disgusting on a visceral level: you've seen surgery videos, or x-rays, or pictures of their "big hearts," enlarged to bursting as they pump oily Ragu through lard-clogged arteries. Yes, they're still people, but they're mostly fat and a food conveyance system. The people inside are far outweighed.  You don't have to pretend nothing's wrong with the woman who worked at your college dining hall right next to the health guidelines, the one who wore the largest size of school polo over her quadruple X pants and diabetes socks, the one with a cup of ice cream, a fake hip, and an insulin test kit. She's big and good enough at pretending for all of us.  Don't feel you need to comfort the 18 year old high schooler, 300 pounds and "a little husky" according to his mom. He gets his comfort from peanut butter and the doctor's note that keeps his asthmatic ass out of gym. He's too far away and too busy eating to listen.  That guy you saw at the doctor's office, the one who came to the cardiologist and left bright red on his head and three necks and swearing to switch cardiologists? He didn't listen to the person he pays to keep his clogged arteries open, and you matter even less to him. He's "too busy" to take care of himself and stay alive for another decade.  These people are the people you see every day, the people you pass by. You can't really help addicts from afar-- shouting about smoking as you drive by the cheap gas station is more effective than taking their side. If you have an addict in your life, you might be able to save them, just maybe. But don't waste your feelings on the pack-a-day smokers of the food world. They chose their death and misery, and they'll either dig the person inside out from the lard or suffocate. Sincerely,  bammed