by Johnny Guatemala
Dec. 15, 2006
Dear Girth-a,
It's quite obvious that you are not in anyway disabled or a senior citizen who is so advanced in years that you cannot walk more than a few steps without falling over.
Please stop pretending you need to use the grocery store's motorized scooter cart.
Watching you wedge yourself into the vehicle inspires jaw-dropping disgust. The sight of your flab protruding through the grating of the cart's basket is repulsive.
Everybody walks. Even the elderly dangle their torsos across the cart handle for stability, because they realize how much a blessing it is being able to walk. They won't give it up until they fall and break a hip! So why won't you do the same? Throw your hock on the cart for support, and waddle off some calories, Bessie May!
Your chariot awaits, after it finishes recharging, you fat sow.
Of all the prisons that people subject themselves to: drugs, alcohol, promiscuous sex, reality television, you had to pick the worst one. It's like you went to the county fair, put on the plastic sumo wrestling suit at a carnie booth, and got stuck inside.
You've made yourself so fat that you cannot put your arms together. I would bet money that you cannot physically perform the act of clapping, because your arms have been render useless, Tyrannosaurus Rex-like appendages. Perhaps you should reconsider grabbing that kielbasa you're gazing at lustily. No? Oh. You're grabbing five. Why am I surprised?
I do not know why you continue to do this to yourself. There will not be a sequel to What's Eating Gilbert Grape? where you can star as the morbidly obese mother. She died and was cremated in a house fire at film's end, remember?
Ugh. Why are you staring at those papier mache Santas like they're works of art? What are those doing in a grocery store? Oh yeah, people like you buy them. This is as predictable as a game of Clue! (It was the obese fe-mullet, with the tacky holiday novelty item, in the grocery store!)
Suddenly I'm realizing that there's a profile to match your description. I bet you buy at least four of those, go home to the trailer park, place them next to some commemorative NASCAR plates, and admire how they look so nice with wood paneling as a backdrop.
You are the reason tabloid magazines, crane games and Hot Springs, Ark., time-share operations are profitable. Garfield, Cathy, and Family Circus control your outlook on life.
Seriously, are you picking up those Santas with a clamp because they're not at motor cart level? For the love of God, stand up and grab it! Who cares if your pendulum underarm fat knocks over an applesauce jar? It at least shows some intiative!
You must be 80 and/or wheelchair-bound to play with this toy.
I feel compelled to follow you around the store at a distance. I don't know if it is out of sheer, grotesque amazement, or if you are projecting your own gravitational force due to your mass. In any event, I'll keep watching because you can't see me, as you can't turn your head more than 10 degrees in either direction without suffocating on a jowl.
OK. Check out time. I barely did any shopping. Safe to say, I've lost my appetite. I think I have about six pounds of celery. I don't even like it, but I took a look at you and decided to start eating like a rabbit. Let's see what you unload.
Wow. I've never seen someone purchase that much potato salad in a non-summer month. And usually they're buying it to serve guests at a picnic. I get the strange suspicion you're going to order a pizza, dump a couple cartons on it, and make the most disgusting burrito known to man.
Now it's time for you to pay, drive the cart to your El Camino, and leave it sitting out there as you drive away, you lazy gastropod. I bet you'll find some good deals on Precious Moments figurines at the swap meet down the road. I feel sorry for the child in your womb. You know, the one you won't know was conceived until it is born? It's going to be a bratty child model for sure.