Fat people that pissed me off recently Hey you, fat family members visiting DC that insisted I meet you for the day and which my mom insisted I oblige. This may be your once in a lifetime chance to take a picture of yourselves in front of that kitschy, grease bucket of a diner that just served you breakfast, but I could be at work and not being forced to take a precious vacation day. Speaking of work, I work for the government. I know you’ve got a problem with that because you talked about the democrats endlessly and I know you are doing it to annoy me. Well uncle beetus, I think you are a tea-bagging, complaining, pizza, beer, and gas-guzzling hick.  Hey you, wife to aforesaid family member, and mother to future beetus cases, what is wrong with you? Can’t you feed the kids fruit and vegetables that are not deep fried? Its called macaroni and cheese, not cheese and macaroni. You’re wearing much of the fat you consumed in a lifetime on your body for everyone to see and everything else, I assume, is what we’re all observing slowly leeching out of your pockmarks and busted pimples. I write you off as lost, but what you are doing to your children qualifies as child abuse. There should be a law! Why did you want us to visit the Whole Foods? That is where I buy real food to eat, like the kind of food that grows on a tree or on the ground and that I can wash off and chew. Why are you so enamored with the processed goodies in the middle aisles, is it because the Piggly Wiggly back home does not carry such treats? Go ahead and spend your all your money on that overpriced processed stuff, at least you’re not blocking up the produce section that the locals use. Unlike you I would never occupy the place of one entire planet by pushing a shopping cart through this story. Everything I buy goes in a shopping baskets in either of my hands. I will leave this place carrying at least 40 lbs of food, much of which is bananas and other fruit. I’ll then walk two blocks to the Metro, descend a long escalator, board my Metro train, ascend an even longer escalator that is often out of service (meaning I’ll climb like a gazillion giant steps carrying more than a third of my body weight in groceries), walk another three blocks to my building, and then ascend three flights of stairs to reach my flat. I’ll do all of this without mouth breathing once, because you know, I make a habit of ujiyah breathing. Namaste bitches.  And then I’ll reward myself with a big green banana smoothie. Let me rant some more. Hey rude fatty in the sorority-lettered tee shirt at my hot yoga sculpt class.  Do you notice that everyone else here is fit and wearing actual yoga clothes and even sports bras?  You reek of booze and look hungover.  You are going to suffer here cow.  Why the Jeff did you think it was OK to move my mat over?  Now I'm staring at someone's back instead of a mirror.  I can't see myself.  I asked you to move it back politely and like a fool you laughed and said you were new and that it would be OK.  Not OK!!!  I can't see myself but I can see you and I'm going to make you suffer for the next 75 minutes.    You need to lose 60 lbs first and tone the heck up before coming to this class, especially since you are hungover and reeking up my corner of the room.  Duh its like 98 degrees dummy. Your muffin top spare tire is not helping you do chaturanga pushups. You can't do any.  Your batwing arms have already failed you, even though you are working out with rather puny 3 lb dumbbells.  You and I both can see the shapeless mold of cottage cheese extending from your lower hamstring up to your shorts line. When you bend over everyone can see even further up your backside. What you don’t know is that the instructor will call you out for not bending your leg 90 degrees during the Warrior series, and you won’t stick it, because you have a cottage cheese, car-culture butt instead of a urban dictionary yoga butt like me.  Any guys here I promise are looking at mine and are disgusted by yours. Do you see the heavier weights I’m holding? Do you see these toned arms? These crisp punches? The instructor has now reminded everyone for the 99th time to tighten their core muscles, and you you can't because you have no abs.  Stare at mine and suffer cow.  Like I'm punching you.  I wish I could! It makes me very happy to know that while you are huffing and puffing and wanting to quit, you are thinking of me, your fitter, stronger, enemy plotting to kill you.  Time for knee strikes bitch.  Go faster.  Stronger.  Tighten those abs!  Or just quit and leave the room because you are so out of shape.  Good.  I win. To the fat guy that whistled and leered at me on my run. I will NEVER respond to your cat-calls or go on a date with you. I want a man that can keep up when I run repeats up the Exorcist stairs, not just stare at my butt and wheeze for air. My 5K pr is 20:45. How long can you maintain a 9mph pace? How many sprint intervals can you do up a 100 yard hill? Why are you even in my city? You are driving up the rent here and so obviously not in my potential pool of long-term lovers and instant hookups. To the fat guy that offered me a drink in the bar. No thank you. Please let me go back to talking with my girlfriends. Do not drunkenly harass me at the bar, or as I warned you, I will throat punch you. Your neck beard and fat rolls won’t stop my hard knuckles when I crush your windpipe. You are a pathetic excuse for a man. Do I even have to remind you that even if you did manage to convince someone like me to sleep with you, your artery-clogged body would fail you just as your limp excuse for an instrument would embarrass you. And then I’d throat punch you for wasting my time.