I’m so sick of this shit. I for one am not treating these people with kid’s gloves any longer. If you’ve eaten yourself into a lack of mobility, then fuck you, get out of the way and ideally quit breathing valuable oxygen. I’d say quit drinking valuable water, but the Handifat don’t drink water, unless you are including the water used to make XL Diet Cokes they are so fond of. You know, the giant Diet Coke that is somehow going to erase the Biggie Size Big Mac Extra Value Meal you just crushed? Why are people giving these selfish assholes the right of way, opening things for them, letting them go first, helping them in any way? I don’t see anyone helping crack heads out with anything. “Oh, I’m so sorry you smoke so much crack. You poor thing, let me help you with that door.” No, people treat crack heads like they have 1st degree leprosy and aggressive B.O. But why would you treat the Handifat any differently? They more than likely DO have B.O. And at least I understand crack, it actually gets you HIGH. Eating too much makes you feel like shit. But because they have so little self control we are supposed to carry on as though they deserve our pity, respect and assistance? Bullshit. You deserve our indifference, possibly our scorn. What triggered this diatribe? Well, #1 I’m a dick. It is that simple, I’m an asshole. Guilty as charged. #2 is the loathsome bitch that takes the same bus home with me nearly every day. She has eaten her way to such success that she can barely walk anymore and has to move around with some sort of walker type device. She isn’t old, she isn’t handicapped. She is Handifat sure as your Sister Susan. Really though, that is okay, live and let live, I never say. But it is her absolutely fucking belligerent miserable cunt attitude that is so unacceptable. Because she has the air of real, tangible disability, some poor new sap each and every day tries to be nice and let her walk onto the bus first. Poor bastards! Those of us who ride with this wretch daily know you are in for a tongue lashing when you try to be polite: “No! You go ahead, they are gonna have to lower it anyway!”. As she blubbers this chastisement she waves her pork fat arms to and fro in most alarming fashion and has the face of a sinister wraith. To clarify, when she says “They are gonna have to lower it anyway!”, she means that the driver is going to have to lower the bus and deploy the ramp, due to the fact she cannot separate her tree trunk legs more than 1cm from the pavement. So once this poor individual has been made to feel like shit for trying to be polite to this salty bitch and boards the bus, the rest of us follow. And she stands and watches. Check that, she doesn’t watch, she glares. The most menacing glare she can muster, with head shaking in constant disapproval of us all. Her tormentors. We who have not disabled ourselves through gluttony. And when we’ve all boarded, it is time for the bus driver to get a taste of her fat aggression. It does not matter if the driver does or does not know what she wants. It does not matter if the driver has already started to deploy the ramp before the last mobile rider has paid. No matter what this driver does, Cunthilda is going to cast her evil countenance at them with hurricane force and yell, “You have to lower it!” As she slithers aboard she flashes one last mean-spirited glance in the driver’s direction before shaking her head in disgust and waddling toward two seats. Did the bus driver tether you against your will on a daily basis and force-feed you for years, ala Kevin Spacey in the movie 7even? No, they are doing their job and you are cattle. This is not their fault. And once she inevitably eats her way onto a Rascal, watch the fuck out, because she’s going to be an even more insufferable twat. I am friends with a guy who is legitimately disabled. And if he could, he would get up and slap the donut out of your Handifat mouth.
In summation, could we organize a mass Handifat drive (e.g. cattle drive) to herd them and their Rascals into their natural habit; West Virginia? I will gladly ride my bicycle along the periphery of the herd, cracking a whip to knock the Cheetos from their engorged hands, all the way back to Huntington and beyond.