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A little more hate, and we just might have a website

May 2nd, 2011 by Sean

Today’s post is more META than usual. That is, rather than address a specific question or happening in the world, I thought I’d use this space to share one of the truly great things about writing your own blog: readers. Two specific readers, to be precise. Their blind hate (divorced from the circumstances that nurtured it) glitters densely…almost diamond-like. In that spirit, I thought I’d let the comments from such a reader, perhaps our most beloved fans, speak to what we are trying to accomplish here. I find that these words, rather than anything either Andy or I might say, proclaim proudly that even a sheer stubborn, nonsensical loathing can’t keep some people from becoming a follower. Here’s to you, Shitwit! We two celebrate thee.

(Note: the following comments were submitted in response to this post. However, due to a lack of caring on my part and Andy’s being out of the country with better things to do…well, they just never made the cut. However, here they are presented in full.)

 

Comment #1 from user SHWIT and email Icanseemytoes@youhaveatinypenis.com: This is just an uneducated guess you smegma licking, sweaty, gelatinous excuse for a human being but is it not entirely possible that your loyal fan, so dubbed “shit” ( a very clever and all together original insult by the way, I bow to your obviously superior prowess of the English vernacular) might actually enjoy your inane and rather silly bits of insultingly stupid advice but felt that your website could use a little, controversy. Maybe Shit didn’t have a problem with the message Sean was trying to send but thought you would enjoy actually having someone comment on something you wrote to stir up a little excitement. Otherwise, what are you useful for? I mean, it’s always nice to have a few obese suckers hanging around on the fourth of July in the vain and desperate hopes of getting some free beer and chicken wings because they ate all theirs. I rather enjoy plumbing the depths of their fat creases with the pointy end of my bottle rocket, dirty. What a wonderful idea that was, using the naturally disgusting jiggling crevices of a fat persons body to hold up my fireworks. Anyhow, enough reminising, back to the point. You already have so few fans, because most of them tried to like you but didn’t have the balls to disagree with you when you tore them a new one for absolutely no reason at all, why try and chase them all away with your angst-y, fifteen year old fat boy rhetoic? Well, I’m off to chew on some gristle, by the way, “half witted” is two words rather than one. Have a good day pork chops!

Comment #2, again from SHWIT and email Icanseemytoes@youhaveatinypenis.com: Pardon me, I meant “half-witted”. Also, where do fat people get off saying that they are our “intellectual, educational and societal betters”? As far as I can tell, eating and drinking to excess puts you at the low end of the totem pole as regards intellect. On top of that, being fat and genetically retarded also puts you at the bottom of the food chain. Really, just take a second to think about it. If somehow, someway the Apocolypse did come around and we were forced to feed on our own kind, you would be the first to go. Mostly because we are hungry, but also because you’re excess weight and minuscule lung capacity would slow down the rest of the group. As far as societal goes, my experience points towards the logic that overweight people are generally looked down upon and silently scorned for not having the ability to control themselves. We are in a constant battle to fix your genetic imperfections because you dumb cunts can’t stop breeding and passing along your inferior genetics. Therefore the rest of the world watches as America tries to educate the fat and stupid on the ways that we can help them be less fat and stupid. Just a thought.

Comment #3, once again, from SHWIT: I hate cell phones and their insatiable need to correct my already predetermined tense of a word. Accidentally, I meant “your” rather than “you’re”.

Comment #4 from our good friend SHWIT: Funny how the spelling on the website you just referenced is also “half-wit”.

Yes, a Comment #5 from the aforementioned SHWIT: I’m sorry, you seem to think you know me… Pray tell, what awful hand was I dealt in life? I feel as though I have a thoroughly robust and wonderful life but since you seem to think I’m a housecleaner and a high school dropout also I would be much inclined to hear your outrageous thoughts regarding the rest of my life as well.

 

Unfortunately, SHWIT decided that they had said their fair share or had enough of berating, well, themselves apparently, so rather than post again, another user on the SAME network, in the SAME place (a clever ruse), decided to finish us off. Comment #6 comes in from Kiss my ass with the email Stopfuckingyourmom@dumbass.net: Oh boohoo. Way to take the fun out of it fatty. This is why this website is a failure. You’re too fucking serious and pissy. Grow some balls and dont ignore logical debate with your inane posturing.

There’s probably a lot that could be said about these comments. What it might look like, I certainly haven’t the faintest idea. But much like a guy with a sore tooth, Andy and I are lucky enough to have a couple of followers who can’t stopping picking at us. If they feel they are being talked about, even coincidentally or ironically, they can’t NOT respond. And I thank them for it.

Crazy people: don’t they just give you a big boner?


Where is the best place to meet a fat guy?

April 28th, 2011 by Andy

Tiana from Cincinnati, Ohio writes:

I’m quite the chubby chaser but, I seemed to be surrounded by really skinny men! Where is the best place to meet a fat guy?

Well, Tiana, you’re in luck! I found this matchmaking company, with almost 500 locations scattered throughout the US — and good news; they’ve got one in your town!

Or, if you’re looking to make a Big Move, I have this handy map. Remember: More red equals more pork rinds.

The idea that a woman can’t find a fat dude to date is amazing to me. I live in Seattle and even in a somewhat hipstery, greenzo town like that, there are still plenty of fatties to go around.

But I don’t think that’s the problem. Because, Tiana, I’ve been to the Midwest. I’ve even been in the airport that you pretend is in Cincinnati. (Seriously. Cincinnati doesn’t have an airport. It’s in Kentucky. You really can’t pretend like it’s “your” airport when it’s across state lines.) I’ve seen exactly the caliber — and mass — of the average Midwesterner. And I’ve got maybe one other solution for you.

Glasses.

Because if you can’t find a fat dude that’s willing to date you, then you’re blind. In the interim, though, go ahead and feel around for some chub. If you’re even in the least bit attractive, they won’t mind the forwardness of your new dating style.

Why are boys so protective over girls?

April 21st, 2011 by Andy

Veronica from the land of Wichita, Kansas(s) writes:

Why are boys so protective over girls?

Because of evolution, obviously. You need to protect your woman, lest Ogg over in the next cave get his grubby hands with its jagged, broken fingernails all over her supple animal hide-covered loins.

Women are (and we’re speaking in broad generalizations here — while we generalize broads, I suppose) less physically robust than your average man. Women have evolved over the millennia  (all six of them, amirite Christians? — ah, but I already lost you with the “evolve” thing) to be good parents, good gatherers, nurturers, soft hips, nice hair, look good in a corset, high heels, and so forth, whereas men have evolved to be strong enough to protect their family, good enough hunters to provide for their family, and good at hooking up the stereo.

It’s all down to testosterone and evolution. It’s an in-built impulse to protect your lady. It’s an in-built impulse to protect any lady. But if she doesn’t throw you at least a pity flirt afterward, then she’s probably a stuck up skank.

The fact that you used the words “boys” and “girls” rather than “men” and “women” leads me to assume that you’re not of an advanced age. Perhaps you’re still in school? In which case, all those things I said are true, but multiplied several times by the raging ass-kicking hormones and sex hormones (or as scientists call them, “hornymones”) coursing through the bloodstream of every male your age.

But not to worry, because it gets better, Veronica! Why, I’m 30 and I already couldn’t possibly be bothered to move myself to protect my woman. “Is she in danger? …eh. She can take care of herself. She’s an ‘independent woman,’ after all.” So you’ve got that to look forward to.

Can I attack a typo and pretend that I’m better than the person who committed it?

April 19th, 2011 by Andy

Syphilitic Halfwitted Ignorant Twat in West Covina, California writes:

Hello, assholes! I hate your fucking guts — the both of you — and I honestly wish you were both dead. Also, I’ve got a truly monumental inferiority complex for which I attempt to compensate by attempting to insult and belittle my intellectual, educational and societal betters! I was just wondering if by pointing out simple grammatical and typographical errors I was making those I detest (and again, I detest them because they are better than me in every possible way) look worse by comparison. What do you think? Kiss my ass!

Well, SHIT (I do hope I can call you SHIT), the answer is no. You see, when you attack the medium instead of the message, it merely shows that you’re incapable of engaging on any sort of meaningful intellectual level. While you (and McLuhan) may try to make the argument that the medium is the message, the reality is that the message is the message and sometimes — even frequently — the medium is imperfect.

Let’s use as an example a recent comment we received on this very blog from a person who signed themselves, “Kiss my ass” [sic]:

Typo… One line from the bottom of the main body. The correct spelling is “there”. You know, as in “Go over THERE you unbelievably stupid cum gargling gutter slut.”

Or, as a speaker of the English language might phrase it:

I have found a typographical error; one line from the bottom of the main body of text. The correct word is “there,” rather than “their.” E.g., “Get over there, you unbelievably stupid, cum gargling gutter-slut,” [emphasis added].

Rather than take issue with Sean’s message (to wit: High school prom night is nothing more than school-sanctioned foreplay ultimately and ideally leading to fornication), she (and I’m just assigning a gender at random) took issue with the single typographical error she saw and, in an attempt to make herself appear more intelligent than she actually is, called Sean out in an insulting and quite frankly ironically ungrammatical manner. While I realize that not everyone has had the opportunity, desire or means to attend a prom, I would think that anyone with even a modicum of knowledge on the subject might have more to offer with regard to disputing Sean’s message than an insulting and uninvited proofreading note. But, perhaps I’m being unfair. There may be any number of reasons that “Kiss my ass” [sic] is unfamiliar with the general politics and activities of high school.

All of this is not to say that if you take issue with something that either Sean or I say you shouldn’t communicate your displeasure or disagreement — far from it. We encourage that kind of interaction and enjoy the give and take we get from the literal dozen of you that follow the blog with any regularity. But if you want to attack an entry, do attack the content, not a simple typographical error.

But more to the point, I’m curious as to why you continue to read this blog if you detest both Sean and myself and the work we do to such an extreme degree. One wonders if you don’t have anything in your life to occupy your time? No hobbies? No books to read? No arts, no crafts, no educational furtherance to pursue? Oh well. It’s hard for me to complain, as a reader is most definitely a reader. And in the eventuality that this blog becomes supported by advertising, your continued readership will quite literally put money in our pockets. So by all means, keep reading, SHIT.

I’ll make an admission here, SHIT. If I’m to be completely honest, I’m guilty more frequently than I’d care to admit of being obsessed with that which I find distasteful. It’s an American trait, I think, to have enough time and energy to expend purely on something you hate, rather than taking that energy and putting it toward something productive or, at the very least, something you enjoy.

First-world problems! Right, SHIT?

Prom is simply school-sanctioned teen fucking

April 17th, 2011 by Sean

Andy — hope that Haiti continues safely. A little nugget of my Iowa experience, just for you.

 

I was out the other night having dinner with friends. Being a Saturday, it was naturally quite busy. However, what I failed to realize was that the vast majority of the crowds weren’t your usual mix of Iowa cow people and ugly children. Instead, prom night had descended upon the Texas Roadhouse with a vengeance.

First, let me say this: Texas Roadhouse is exactly the kind of steakhouse chain restaurant the name implies. Lots of loud country music that the waitstaff stops to dance to, at apparently pre-determined times, with an obviously obligatory zeal, lots of peanut shells on the floor and cheap beer on the tables, but also lots and lots of steak. And that’s the important thing to remember. It’s a place to eat some cheap fucking steak and blot out the memory of a job you hate on a Saturday night. Yet, group after group of Iowa farmbred hillbillies come in, wearing their camouflage tuxes and camouflage ball gowns in what I can only assume is some kind of small-town attempt at irony, and I’m thinking to myself the whole time: I’m pretty sure somebody’s “condom” is going to “break” tonight.

Second, who the fuck takes their prom date to the goddamn Texas Roadhouse? Is that what gets you laid these days? Even in Iowa? I mean, I realize these are some fat, ugly girls here. But remembering my own high school experience, I always found that even a chance at some heavy petting usually required just a tad more thought than: “Well, what’s near the mall?”

So, to all you hillbillies out there hoping to plumb the depths of some scabrous land-monster, maybe next time think it through a couple more steps after picking out that fine gillie-suit tuxedo you found in the Cabelas catalog. Don’t bother with the suit and the steak dinner. If you are going to fuck a pig, take her to a farm or even a city park. Make sure there’s mud for mixing up some slops. Then you get in there and fuck that pig. It’s what you were bred for, right?

Happy Prom Night, everybody!

What’s it like in Haiti?

April 8th, 2011 by Andy

Betsy in Seattle, Washington asks:

What’s it like in Haiti?

Funny you should ask! A couple of years ago, in October of 2008, I had the opportunity to go to Haiti as part of a documentary film crew. When I was there I — like most people who have the chance to go to Haiti — I fell in love with the place and the people. Oh, sure, you could say that I’d have fallen in love with any country that I had the chance to go to on someone else’s dime, doing a job I really love. But I didn’t go to any country, I went to Haiti. And I really and truly loved it there.

Just over a year ago, Port-au-Prince was just about leveled by a large earthquake. And that’s when I began looking for a way to do something to help. But the problem is that… I’m kind of useless. I mean, I’m a photographer and filmmaker and blogger — and a fairly broke-by-US-standards one at that. They really don’t need more photos, videos or words created about the Haitian people. They need food and water and shelter and to do all that they need money (and hey, if you’ve got extra, a reputable NGO with a Haitian program wouldn’t be a bad place to send it). And in the long term, they need a real economy that leads to political and social stability and jobs. But anyway, I kept my eyes open for some sort of opportunity.

Long story short: I found one. I’m going to be going down to Haiti for a few months (between one and four) to teach some young adults how to take good photographs and edit video in Final Cut Pro. I’m leaving tonight.

I’m going to have internet access and I plan to keep working on Ask a Fat Guy — as does Sean, when he gets a little less busy/sick. So keep your eyes open here and I’ll keep you guys updated as to what’s going on.

On a more personal level, I’m really pleased to have a good, solid answer to the whole “What are you contributing to the world?” question.

So in answer to your question, Betsy of Seattle, Washington: I’ll let you know.

Is attempting to do something shitty just as bad as doing something shitty?

March 29th, 2011 by Andy

Sofia in Memphis, Tennessee writes:

My boyfriend and I were driving along and a woman in a Subaru attempted to change into our lane in front of us. This was a two lane road, the right lane was for going straight or turning right, the left lane was for turning left. She came up almost to the light and tried to sneak into the right-hand lane — where we were. He wouldn’t let her in and he flipped her off! I got irritated and told him that I didn’t appreciate that sort of thing. He said that she sucked and deserved the flip-off. I say she didn’t do anything, so she didn’t deserve it. Who’s right?

Let me make something perfectly clear, Sofia: Attempted bitchery is bitchery in itself. Ditto for douchebaggery, cuntery, twattery, stupidity, murder and adultery. The fact that she wasn’t able to complete her shitty move doesn’t mean that moving up the line of cars to nearly the intersection and attempting to cut over isn’t a shitty move. And yes, she did deserve to be flipped off.

I live in Seattle and we have tons — tons — of intersections like the one you described. And douchebags in BMWs try that same shit. I don’t let them in, either. And I flip them off, when practicable. Because that’s how people learn: Through shame.

Forgiveness is divine and all that, but the reality is that commuting is a motherfucker. So don’t cut people off.

Do I eat all the food? Why am I fat?

March 23rd, 2011 by Andy

sexy bbe [sic] from the United Kingdom writes:

do u eat all the food and why are u fat

First and foremost, allow me to preface what I’m about to write with the following disclaimers:

  1. I swear to fuck she called herself “sexy bbe.”
  2. I swear to shit that her letter is copied and pasted directly from her email to us here at Ask a Fat Guy West Headquarters (my kitchen table) and represents the entirety of her letter. Which is to say that I’m not leaving shit out to make her look bad or anything like that.
  3. I’m going to assume for my own purposes that “sexy bbe” is, at the outside, a high school student. Probably middle school.

That being said: Jesus jumping jack shit, “sexy bbe,” is that really how they teach you to write in the United Kingdom? I’ve known a lot of people from Britain over my years on this earth and the vast majority of them are well-spoken, decently-read and reasonably intelligent people. Granted that if I were to take your average middle school student here in the United States, they might not sound much better. But you’re British. You’re supposed to be better than we unwashed masses, writhing around in our greasy McDonald’s-stained sweats at our NASCAR races, shouting across the grocery store that, “That’ll be cheaper at the Wally-mart!” After all, the language is called “English” for a reason: You folks invented it. Thus you ought to be able to speak and write it slightly better than your letter gives me cause to believe you do.

Far be it from me to alienate a reader — any reader (except, you know, various hill people and the like) — especially a new, international, person-I-don’t-know reader, but this sort of neigh on illiterate gibberish that passes for communication infuriates me. I’m no Geoffrey Chaucer, no George Orwell, no Jackie Collins, no whoever the fuck it is that wrote Twilight (I’m not looking it up), but I do have a baseline level of ability when it comes to the writing and speaking the English language. And I was educated entirely in the American public school system. In Everett, Washington. There’s no way that whatever school you’re attending in Britain isn’t leagues better than the unemployment-office-waiting-room that was the school district responsible for “educating” (ha!) me.

In answer to your first question; the answer is yes, I eat all the food. Every last bit of it. People are currently starving in Africa because I have personally consumed every last scrap of food on Planet Earth. Obviously, that is untrue. But I really have no idea what you’re asking. Are you inquiring as to whether or not I eat too much? (Yes, I do. But I’m getting better. I’m also actually losing weight, since leaving my unhappy living situation last year. Let’s hear it for first world problems.) Are you asking whether I will eat anything at all placed in front of me? (No, I have the triple threat of taste, discrimination and what’s left of my dignity. I’m also an avid cook and enjoy eating well.) Are you asking whether there are certain foods which I will not eat? (Certainly! I refuse to eat the following, in no particular order: Papayas, bananas [but not plantains -- I like those], octopus, dogs, cats, coconut in sweets, the sweet flesh of humans.) Are you asking what my favorite foods are? (Any sort of decent cut of red meat grilled and served rare, fried chicken, cheese [oh god how I love good, stinky cheese], nearly any seafood, watermelon, brussels sprouts, broccoli, parsnips, onions, pasta, fresh bread, etc., etc., etc.) I really just don’t know what you’re asking.

In answer to your second question: I am fat because I consume too many calories for my level of physical activity. As I mentioned above, I am getting better about overeating (well as drinking rather less) and am consequently losing a bit of weight. If you want a deeper answer as to why I consume an excess of calories: I’m a rather depressive individual and spent the last year living in a ridiculously unhealthy and unhappy environment which caused me to comfort myself through both overeating and drinking too much booze.

If the internet has taught me anything, it’s that in Britain, students — especially attractive female students in the 20-something age range, usually with unfortunate tattoos, bleached hair and a vapid, world-weary manner — are punished by way of spanking, caning, paddling and the like. I suggest you go to your headmaster (whom you will recognize by their inexplicably being dressed at all times in full academic regalia) and let him or her (probably him) know that Andrew (the American one) said to beat you long, beat you hard and keep doing so until you learn that the letter “u” is not an acceptable abbreviation for the word “you,” especially in polite correspondence. Once that’s taken care of, let me know and we’ll start in on capitalization, punctuation, grammar and sentence structure.

Now, about those British school uniforms. Do you have any suggestions as to where I might be able to purchase one of those for a 28 year old woman? (It’s probably best for me if I don’t post this last paragraph.)

My neighbor’s music is too loud. What do I do?

March 18th, 2011 by Andy

Ari in Richmond, Virginia writes:

My upstairs neighbor plays his music really loud. I’ve banged on the ceiling several times, but he doesn’t pay any attention. I’m really sick of it. What should I do to get back at him?

Well, you could always set fire to a paper bag full of dog feces and leave that bag on his doorstep, then run away after knocking at his door. As he opens his door, he’ll notice that there’s a burning paper bag, which he will attempt to extinguish by treading upon it. This will result in his inadvertently placing his foot into dog feces which will, I’m sure, get your point across.

Or you could call the police and file a noise complaint. After all, your taxes pay their salaries, so you may as well start getting your money’s worth out of them. If they don’t respond fast enough, you can call back and claim that you heard shots fired*. Not only will this result in a much faster arrival, he’ll very likely be handcuffed, pepper-sprayed and possibly beaten!

Or you could call your landlord or property manager and let them know that his music is impeding your ability to enjoy your space in quiet and solitude.

Or if he’s not making any noise after 10pm or before 8am, you could shut up and deal with it. (Unless it’s at ridiculous volume. Then you may have a legitimate complaint.)

Or, you know, you could stop being a little bitch and just go knock on his door and introduce yourself. Ask how he’s doing. Apologize for not introducing yourself sooner. And then say, “Hey, by the way, the floors and walls at this place are a little thin. Could you do me a favor and turn the music down a little in the evenings?”

To which he’ll very likely reply, “Oh, sure! I’m sorry about that; I didn’t realize it was that loud.” Because real life isn’t like the Internet. Most people aren’t raging cocks.

And hey! Now you’ve got a new friend in the building that you could go grab a beer with! Isn’t that nice? Human interaction?

Of course, he may turn out to be some sort of Tapout-wearing, WWE-watching, Coors-drinking turd. And he may tell you to fuck off and slam the door in your face. So then you can call your landlord. But regardless, my “quit being a little bitch” advice still holds.

* Don’t ever do this.

Does it make you feel better to swear?

March 2nd, 2011 by Andy

Steven in Ottumwa, Iowa writes:

My wife gets pissed off at me when I swear after I hurt myself. I tell her that it feels better. She disagrees and says that it’s just rude. What gives? Does it really make you feel better to swear?

Well, I don’t know, Steven. Does it make you — “you” as in Steven, the only guy with Internet access and the ability to read and write the English language in Ottumwa, Iowa — feel better to swear? If so, the answer is cunting-motherfucking “yes.” If no, then it’s damn-hell-ass “no.”

Questions of this particular ilk are rather difficult to answer on a general basis. Because I don’t know what makes you feel better, or what you like to eat, or what you like to read. I know what should make you feel better, or what you ought to like to eat, or what you would benefit from reading (swearing and liquor, cassoulet, A Burnt-Out Case by Graham Greene, respectively). But I don’t know for sure what you like, with regard to those subjects. Which is not to say that I don’t want others to write in with similar questions; because I do… oh how I want you lazy assholes to write us some questions. But just don’t expect a definitive answer.

Except that in this particular case, I kind of do have a definitive answer. In a 2009 article from Neuroreport1 (and check out that motherfucking MLA citation; “college” is finally paying off), researchers have found that swearing may very well reduce the perception of pain, possibly by initiating the fight-or-flight response. Especially in men. But not men prone to “catastrophise” (I swear to shit that’s their word). I’m really not entirely sure what that means, but I’m betting that it may have something to do with you not being a little bitch all the time. Which is to say that banging your knuckle on the doorway as you pass through may garner a, “Shit, ouch,” but you should reserve the heavy shit for when you prolapse your rectum whilst lifting weights (do not fucking Google that shit unless you really want to wreck your evening and/or your dinner).

So next time your wife (do they have women in Ottumwa?) climbs up your ass for swearing because you stubbed a toe, you have something in which to rub her face. Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck yeah it does, Steven. Fuck yeah it does.

  1. Stephens, Richard, John Atkins, and Andrew Kingston. “Swearing as a Response to Pain.” Neuroreport. 20.12 (2009): 1056-1060. Print.