Well, by dad has got thuh beetus And I’m angry, FPH. I’m sad and angry that the man who did a damn good job of raising me and who overcame huge obstacles to be a success would let himself slip into fatness like every other slob.  My dad is a smallfat, early 50s, and he found out yesterday that he has developed type 2. I was over at his house for dinner (potatoes, bread rolls, fruit, etc) last night and needless to say I spent the whole evening shitlording.  It started with his obese girlfriend who was trying to tell me that she quit one of her life goals because she didn’t posses the talent to be able to do it. I said that’s bullshit and that there’s no such thing as talent, only people who work. The conversation went “You could have. You just gave up.” “No, other people can do this is seconds, but it takes me ages.” “Exactly. You can, but you chose not to.” “But other people can do it so much easier. I just can’t.” “So something is only worth doing if it’s easy?” It went around and around in circles because hams are immune to logic before she ended it by calling me “confrontational.” Then I got to lecturing about health and diabetes. I said he could likely cure his condition through weight loss and proper diet and that he had to get his weight down. I went on about how sugar is absorbed, insulin, visceral fat, and all that. He was sort of half paying attention, clearly not taking it seriously. Then I got the “bu-bu-but BMI is inaccurate because bodybuilders” from my sister’s boyfriend (who is the most stupid person I’ve ever met). I said simply, “Are you a bodybuilder?” “No.” “I’m not a body builder either. No one here is a bodybuilder, no one is 7’ tall, no one is 4’ tall, so BMI is accurate.” He tried to tell me that a few months ago the calculator told him he was obese and he claimed it was from muscle. They guy is a bricklayer and has a footballer’s body; he’s fit now after losing some weight, but he was never obese from muscle, I assure you. I told him, “It sounds like you were fat,” though I’m sure his stupidity caused him to do the math wrong.  This lead on to my skinny fat sister (who is formerly the most stupid person I’ve ever met) chiming in with her BMI experience, claiming that it told her she was just barely in the healthy range and, “that can’t be right?” It’s exactly right, but what this did give me was the opening to rant about the normalisation of obesity, how everyone is fat, and how my 21BMI gets me malnourished comments. By the end of this rant, everyone’s shoes had become simply fascinating.  At this point, dad’s girlfriend, who had gone very quiet, got up and left. She didn’t come back and she didn’t say goodbye or goodnight. I guess she went to cry buttertears because I triggered her with reality.  Toward the end, I moved back to my dad and diabetes. I went into explaining how his blood can turn into syrup that will tear his eyes to pieces, that his heart will struggle, that poor circulation and neuropathy can lead to gangrenous infections going unnoticed, and that just taking more insulin is absolutely not fine like most people believe. Shortly after this, he actually quietly took off his socks and inspected his feet, probably looking for the fluid buildup and infected sores I was talking about.  When I’d finished, the entire tone had changed. He had gone from laughing at the fact and talking in vague terms about cutting out some alcohol to being visibly more pale, pressing me for endless diet tips, and actually admitting he had become a little scared. Fucking damn right you should be scared. I'm quietly hoping I did good. But fuck fat fucks so much. There's still likely a very good chance that fat laziness will see my dad slide further into fatness before dying needlessly from unchecked diabetes.