Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Monthly Archives: September 2011

Fat America

These colors don’t run.


Because America’s obese population can’t physically run.


I love America. Don’t get me wrong; if I had to live in any other country I would not be as happy.  For instance, if I lived in Thailand I couldn’t call my leader a fart-faced thunder-cunt without spending time in prison.  If I lived in Italy I’d have to get used to riding mopeds everywhere and losing every military conflict.  Even if I lived in Canada I’m pretty sure I would forfeit half of my brain cells the second I traded my American citizenship for a Canadian one. For you see, Canada is America’s slow little brother.  And by slow I of course mean retarded.  Although, if this were a race Canada would have skated across the finish line while slow America was still licking Cheeto residue off their fingers.


We lead the world in military advancements, quality of life, and the highest percentage of citizens being mistaken for beached whales.  Why, in a modern-day Moby Dick, Captain Ahab could just take a bus ride to Wisconsin and have his choice of white whales!   God bless America, a deep-fried chicken in every pot and a Rascal Scooter in every home.


We have created an entire network on basic cable devoted to food twenty-four delicious hours a day. Needless to say, I love it because I’m American and not a terrorist.  I like to use it like foreplay and pop on the Food Network about thirty minutes before I eat dinner.   After watching that Bobby Flay sear and simmer some tasty delights and his competition on Iron Chef I get very hungry, and by the time dinner is on the table I’m sporting a throbbing, rock-hard appetite.


Food Network baffles me at times.  Nearly everything on their shows is delicious, so why are the critics so tough on the contestants?  I don’t think most of the viewers would care that the presentation of steak and potatoes is “a little sloppy” according to the critics’ analysis.  The audience doesn’t care; they’d still gladly cram that piece of meat in their food hole if given the chance.


As the fattest country America has by far the best Food Network.  The Ethiopian Food Network for instance is just a streaming webcam of a guy boiling iodine tablets into water.   It successfully quenches my appetite for depression and fills my sadness quota thoroughly.  Their countries strong suit in television would undoubtedly be Ethiopia’s Next Top Model, as they were able to recruit way skinnier girls than the ones that were on America’s Next Top Model.


I’m fine with us being the most obese country.  Didn’t you know it’s way better than being the most malnourished country?  At the buffets in malnourished countries all they serve is dirt, famine, and genocide.  Granted, it’s all you can eat of those and there is no charge, but hey, I’m glad I live in America where I can still shell out nine dollars for all-you-can-eat chicken wings and gorge myself until I fall asleep.  You’ve go to love those sweet, succulent, patriotic chicken wings.  And crown thy good with brotherhood, from fatty to fatty!


It’s the freedom to be as festively plump as we want.  That’s what America means to me.  You want extra butter on that deep-fried lard cake?  Go ahead, this is America after all.   You just want to eat a tube of frosting and a plate of fried chicken skin for lunch?  Go for it.  If I start telling you how to eat or live your life I’m no better than Hitler.   I love this country, as I am happy, even proud to be the fat loudmouth of the world.


For America is the original big fat party animal.

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You Can Never Show Weakness

I don’t get it.  Some people call it therapy. I call it exposing your weaknesses to a complete stranger.   I don’t know their angle; this could easily be a set up.  It was almost too easy for me to overlook the non-legally binding confidentially agreement therapists enter into.  So while in complete concordance with the law my therapist could blackmail me, manipulate me, or exploit my deepest fears until he exploits my weakness into me giving him a handjob to prove I’m not gay.  Umm, thanks, but no thanks, I’ll just repress my problems down like an adult and not give out any handjobs today.


When I hear a friend say something like, “Stop making fun of my eyebrows,” or “I really find jokes about eating disorders offensive.” I think to myself, “You shouldn’t have shown me how much that upsets you.”  Now, the next time I’m feeling saucy and looking for some excitement, I’ll just throw an offhand comment towards this person about how they shouldn’t be so quick to use the plural of eyebrows, since there is clearly just one giant unibrow on their face.  I’ll say this even if this individual clearly has two perfectly groomed eyebrows.  Then I would go on to inquire if they have heard of this new diet fad I heard of called “anorexia”, because I think it could really help with that spare tire they’re getting, even if they are rail skinny.  Then I just sit back and enjoy the fireworks.  Sometimes you’ve just gotta make your own fun, you know?


The flip side of this is that when someone gives you some attitude or guff about whatever they think you’re sensitive about you’ve gotta just sit there and take it.  I get through it by thinking about how infuriating it must be to them that they are not getting the reaction they so sorely desire out of me while they are putting so much effort into their rant of insults.  Just hang in there and take it.  Sooner or later they will either get tired or die and you can claim victory over your opposition.    If it helps, while this badgerer is badgering you, you can calmly let them know how ridiculous they look complaining that you ate the last bit of peanut butter or framed them as a human trafficking kingpin as a joke.  Let them know that they’re being a little fun-burglar about the situation.  You need to be careful that your comments are genuinely trying to point out how ridiculous your insulter looks and are not construed as an attempt to get them to stop making fun of you.  After all, you don’t want to expose anything that you might be sensitive about.


*It is shocking to me how some celebrities do not embrace this tactic when dealing with their feuds.  If 50 Cent says something about Kanye West, Kanye should not give a response, as by giving a response just has him stooping to the level of someone who likely could not pass a high school equivalency test.  If Kanye replies, he plays right into 50’s hands, but if he stays silent he shows that he is above the criticism or 50’s taunts that he is a “fake-ass-punk-ass”**.  In the mature public’s eye (not to be confused with fans of Kanye or 50 Cent) Kanye will have won by showing how little the remarks have affected him.


Emotions will always be our downfall, that’s why so many jobs are being replaced with robots.  Cool, fearless, someday will take over the world, fucking robots.  Most humans are just too sensitive and tie emotion into decisions that should be made practically.  Just remember, it’s the person with too big a heart that ends up adopting half the puppies at the Humane Society and ends up with a house full of shit a week later.


*The names 50 Cent and Kanye West are interchangeable in this paragraph.


**Or something equally stupid

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