Posts from — December 2009

 My dear, sweet Emaciated Lady gave me this book for Christmas. She must think me unrefined, but the reality is I already live like a lady. For the most part anyway. At the very least, I never go to buffets and that’s got to count for something.

Also, it seems like she’s sending me mixed signals with the second gift pictured below. While I would love to host a dinner party wearing nothing but that cute little houndstooth apron, I thought the whole point in life was to avoid dinner parties at all costs. That’s not to say I won’t wear it while pouring myself a glass of wine or boiling hot water to pour in my eyes as punishment for thinking about food, but still. I’m supposed to be starving over here.

P.S. – This photo has been cropped for your viewing pleasure. The fat in the original version was vomit inducing. Buf if you look close enough, you can still see vestiges of a muffin top.

P.P.S. – I love you, Emaciated. So much that I’m considering not breaking up with you if you get fat.

Skinny Lady:  I obviously don’t care if I get fat.

Skinny Man:  You mean you don’t care how fat you get.

…And then Skinny Lady whipped out the divorce papers and used them to beat her rat bastard husband into oblivion.

Since we opened up the dialogue about hate a couple of weeks ago, I thought I’d mention that one of our readers recently wrote to tell us he’d like to see more hate crimes against fat people on our blog. Apparently, we’ve simmered down in that department, which goes to say that RA has upped its moral integrity.

Okay, not really. The truth is, we currently fall into the fat category and we don’t want this to be a blog about self pity. I promise that as we lose weight, we’ll do our best to make people like Piddle suffer an intestinal hemorrhage more often. As for the rest of you, we hope our rants about the dangerously obese population serves as inspiration to never get fat.

In the spirit of giving, I thought you’d all enjoy a recent email exchange between me, Skinny and our fucked up friend Crazy D.

Skinny Lady: I just wanted to let you both know what a fat and gluttonous pig I am – I have in front of me a sandwich AND a piece of pizza (left over from the tree trimming party on Friday). And I’m thinking about what I’m going to munch on when I go home to check on the dog in 5 minutes. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?

Emaciated Lady: I want to let you both know that my obese coworker brought me a grocery bag filled with super-sized ginger cookies. Her mother baked them for me this weekend and HER MOTHER wrote me a note that said: “I know how much you like these Emaciated Lady. Enjoy!” I don’t know what’s more disturbing. That her mom knows me by name or that her mom is spearheading the “Get Emaciated Lady Fat” movement.

Crazy D: Ha! You both tell very sad stories. They are also reminders that we are entering the treacherous waters of the holiday season, bane of the eating disordered. My birthday was last month, so what did my wife do? Made me a cake *and* gave me a box of Godiva truffles. You can see that her definition of “love” is unique to her and indeed looks more like what most people would call “sadism.” And this was two days after Thanksgiving of course. Perhaps we need to commit to some kind of no-eating pledge for the rest of the month. Please advise.

Emaciated Lady: It’s too late for my no-eating pledge so I will encourage you both to join me in the “I don’t give a fuck if I’m fat in December” pledge.

Last night I dreamt that one of my coworkers snuck into my house and stole a sandwich I was frying up in a puddle of butter. She did it in stages, grabbing a little part each time I turned my back. Then, apparently to compensate me for my loss, she left me a bookshelf/entertainment center. You know what I did? I tracked that bitch down and let her have it. Because nobody, and I mean NOBODY, steals my food. I don’t give a fuck if it is imaginary.

A package full of Harry & David goodies was hand-delivered to my office after I returned from lunch. Several of my coworkers began divvying up the goods, and what you see here is my portion. Mind you I just returned from a trip to the mall where I ate an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and a Mrs. Field’s semi-sweet chocolate chip cookie, after having had THIS for breakfast. Because I hate myself so much that I’m apparently TRYING to make myself obese. If only I had a gun, I’d be out of my misery by now.

There are Dunkin Donuts Munchkins in the kitchen, a fact I was informed of immediately upon my arrival at work this morning. Yesterday there were bagels. Tomorrow is a holiday 3-course  luncheon. I’ve lost all will.

P.S. – The  mini Baby Ruth is my typical morning meal, and I fear it would feel left out if I didn’t include it in this morning’s breakfast festivities. Look at how it’s just smiling at me.

SIKE. We’re still as fucked up as ever!

I wish I had a good excuse for our prolonged absence, but I don’t. Emaciated Lady is lazy, and I’m just plain fat. My eating disorder has swung to the ugly end of the pendulum, thus rendering me too obese to:

1) look at myself without vomiting in my mouth a little;

2) fit into anything not made of 100 percent cotton/spandex;

3) blog about being skinny when there are small animals hibernating in my rolls of fat.

To our faithful fans, I owe my deepest apologies. Please forgive me. However, if you’re not the forgiving type, feel free to send hate mail to Emaciated Lady. It’s really all her fault anyway.