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.