By most Americans’ reckoning, it would be a great insult to call a woman a fat whore from Tacoma, and an even greater insult to thus describe someone’s mother. I get it, but I don’t approve of it. It’s not like I go around accusing women of living in greater Spanaway like some kind of intractable white trash, or of being related to David Brame. There are worse things than being a baby who got back, cushion for the pushin’, sexual trustworthiness, and an incall in one of the most underrated cities in the Northwest. Realtalk, I, too, might go to Spanaway to pork a South Sound cutie, in contrast to that fuckhead who went back to Graham to burn down his house with his kids inside. That’s the kind of shit that goes down in the South Sound when the working girls aren’t directly keeping an eye on things.
As a people, we spend too much time policing one another’s tone to police things that ought to be policed, like the police chief chronically stalking his wife. I took a terrible stream of abuse in Atlantic City a few months ago for referring to this drop-dead sexy femme fatale dominatrix-looking chick from Connecticut as fat, even though I said it to one of my friends at a whisper out of the chick’s earshot. I can’t remember what I said verbatim, but it was along the lines of “that fat girl right across from me is really fucking hot.” I might as well have endorsed Donald Trump for being down as shit with all the Neonazis. My comment spread like wildfire and I ended up with a chorus of people fifty to a hundred thirty pounds lighter than me accusing me of being insensitive to fatties. It was fucking absurd. Yes, do tell Mr. Wonka about how skinny girls never say unkind things about fat ones and guys who look like Abercrombie models never use their fat friends (why, hello, readers) as DHV props to secure hookups. I can’t think of another time when I’ve stirred up such a hornet’s nest of flagrant concern trolls.
We have a language problem in this country, and “go fuck a fat whore in Tacoma” is not part of this problem. The solution never is. Even if I don’t follow my own advice in this matter, I try to live in truth. Living in truth does not include a skinny girl frantically dieting at a time when she probably ought to gain five pounds for her health and then turning around to berate a guy who’s had a spare tire since elementary school (graham crackers were the stress-eating theme in third grade) to call other women “big-boned” or some shit. Damn that. It’s no wonder that we end up with women who really ought to lose a few stone for ambulatory and cardiovascular reasons insisting that they’re perfect just the way they are, like something out of a trip to the neighborhood strip club with Mr. Rogers. They’re reacting against something that’s equally dishonest and probably more pernicious. It takes some real gullibility to believe a skinny woman’s ostentatious professions of concern for the feelings of a thick bitch. That’s even worse than MySpace angles. Give John Stossel a break.
Why are Americans so fat? I did a bit over an hour of vineyard stoop labor this afternoon, then ate over 1,800 calories of culturally appropriated TV dinner items from Trader Joe’s within five hours tonight. What the fuck is shrimp toast? I bought it with a fully guilty conscience on account of the slave labor problem in Southeast Asian shrimping, but why the fuck did I think it made sense to spend $3.99 on ten larded-up tapas-sized “toast” squares garnished with itty-bitty slivers of shrimp? I’m the one who needs to give Stossel a break now. Actually, it wasn’t bad for what it was, but still, shit. It’s no wonder I’m still fat.
The sad thing is that I get more exercise than a great many Americans, and less likely to repeat the quasi-mistake of the microwaveable shrimp toast any time soon than so many of my countrymen are to go full Morgan Spurlock with a forty-ounce Coke by noon tomorrow and probably again by sundown. Most Americans don’t do farm labor at all. The farm workforce in this country is too small, too overworked, too foreign, too unenfranchised, too intimidated, and too oppressed. Some of these people we manage to run into the ground all summer and then fatten up all winter, when they can’t find work and can’t afford much in the way of vegetables. Meanwhile we fatten up many of our own kind all year long. I know, I may not be interested in comments about the Spic-Nig Cycle, but comments about the Spic-Nig Cycle are surely interested in me. Behave yourselves if you want to be published here, guys.
It’s true, though, that we can and should do better than this. It’s just another epic failure of self-government. Think about how the Amish would react to a stunt like Fat Shaming Week. A number of manosphere elements patted themselves on the back for making it a “success.” Maybe the Boomer hot takes are right about kids these days having less in the way of standards than of self-esteem. I suckered a hundred-odd row feet of cabernet franc this afternoon and felt a bit disappointed in myself for not toughing it out and doing more, still unpaid; these guys dabbled in a flame war with Lindy West and proclaimed themselves men of significant accomplishment. As I pointed out elsewhere, Fat Shaming Week 2013 coincided with Pie Month at Shari’s, and the Amish are not known to be bashful around pie. Imagine going to Intercourse and offering a thick bitch one of two options for interacting with the English: either listen to a claque of sexually licentious dipshits who have no idea how to pick cabbage call you fat, or go to this restaurant that’s doing pie discounts all month and has, like, a dozen different kinds of pie on the menu, although unfortunately not shoo-fly, and by the way, they give you a free slice of pie with dinner all day on Wednesdays all year. Roosh’s offer wouldn’t have a prayer.
On second thought, let’s throw in a third offer. My parents once gave my maternal grandmother a baking towel with bits of Dutch Country blather on it, including, “Kissin’ wears out; Cookin’ don’t.” Let’s assume that we’re dealing with an Amishwoman who’s put on her wisdom weight but doesn’t figure that either one has worn out yet. If she took a strange Englishman into her bed, she’d probably be domestically competent and hospitable enough to fix him sammich afterwards. This is a thing cherished above rubies in parts of the manosphere, the willingness and ability of sluts to wait on their one-night stands by serving them complicated forms of bespoke sammich while still in the throes of orgasm. You’d think that if a guy was that hungry he could grab the buggy and go to Wawa. Wawa sometimes shuts the sandwich line down early, but the Amish go to bed even earlier, so if they’re adulterous, they’re probably down with the afternoon delight. The problem is that Wawa isn’t the slut who just put out for you and now owes you, like, a plate of fettuccine Alfredo made from scratch. Seriously, that’s how these guys think. They complain about club sluts who order pizza after the rumpy-pumpy because some chick in Poland supposedly put out four hours after first acquaintance and then jumped into short-order cook mode immediately afterwards, but not before putting her heels back on.
I don’t know how much Stacy’s Mom-style adultery there is to be had in the Dutch Country, but there’s a lot of home cooking to be had, even if you wish you’d gone to Wawa after all because so much of it is so bland. The manosphere is run by guys who would expect Amish girls to use rumspringa as an opportunity to do bespoke cooking mitzvahs that will make them feel like Don Draper. No, dude, they’re in it for the opportunity to do too much cocaine to be able to cook and take too much cock to have any energy left to make you a damn steak dinner. But the problem with the older ones who might in fact be so domestic towards a fuck buddy is that they’re fat and over the wall and have loose pussies. These guys are looking for younger, hotter, tighter, and more cooking experience.
They’re looking for unicorns. They claim to have seduced unicorns. Much of their audience is guys who have never really touched a woman and have no idea what a pussy feels like, guys who are too inexperienced and ignorant to know jack shit about sex. They’re able to convince some of these virginal fools that the worst thing in the world is ending up with a woman who is aging, overweight, or loose in the vagina, not ending up with a woman who’s officially HB10 but jam-you-up-in-family-court crazy and far too stupid and arrogant to use condoms regularly with the strange men she beds, and whom they were stupid and arrogant enough to think they could with proper manly shrew-handling techniques.
It wasn’t until a few months ago, when I had an unusually good lay with a hooker who had probably the loosest pussy of any woman I’d ever fucked, that I realized just how full of shit some of these guys are. This is actually a really important point that can only be conveyed explicitly. It can take a man a fairly long time to reach orgasm during intercourse with a woman whose vagina is loose, and it can be a disconcerting experience for a sexually inexperienced man because the grip of his partner’s pussy is so much lighter than he’d normally apply while masturbating. This does not necessarily mean that the sex will be bad. It could be wonderful, as it was with this hooker because she was so affectionate and at ease with me.
Trying to explain any of this to male virgins who are up to their eyeballs in pornography but fundamentally do not understand sexual mechanics is a fool’s errand. Not having a clue what it’s like to fuck a skinny woman won’t help them learn what it’s like to fuck a fat woman, either. More cushion can, in fact, help with the pushin’, but internet-tutored virgins don’t know this. #TeshTips #IFYL: Don’t listen to whatever shit that Guylander is saying about augmenting your yogurt with fruit-based superfoods for Wow Much Weightloss or brushing your teeth more effectively for a better shot on a first date. Lay off the shrimp toast and walk your ass over to the whorehouse instead. Or something like that. In Soviet America, radio programs YOU! As does INTERNET. Orwell grouped the whores among the subversives for a reason. So do the PUA/MRA creeps.
Remember this, too: Sam Dotson is hella fat, and David Brame wasn’t. Just sayin’.