Confessions of a Fat Man

The following was sent to FCN from a good friend and somewhat faithful reader who needed a venue to cry for help. This post is part of his therapy. Please give him an encouraging comment and keep his sad plight in mind next time you visit Sizzler.

I used to think that I was a normal young man. I ate my grandmother's apple pie. I liked baseball. I believed in the American way. I had two dogs and an eccentric family. My mother was an immigrant. I was the classic American boy. Or so I thought.

One lonely new year's eve, I happened to glance at a mirror. What I saw left me dumbstruck. There was a lot more of me in that mirror than I had counted on. Instead of the fit young man I was looking for, staring back at me was an abomination that could serve as a counterweight for the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I was fat.

At the time I tipped the scales at around ** —NOTE: THE EXACT AMOUNT HAS BEEN CONCEALED FOR THE PRIVACY OF THE AUTHOR— It was at that moment that I realized that something must be done. I set for myself a modest goal. To lose five pounds over the course of the year. I failed miserably. That year my weight marched into the triple digits. Each year since that fateful revelation, my New Year's resolution has been to lose five pounds. Sadly instead of losing unwanted adipose, I am consistently gaining weight at such an alarming speed that my mother has had to take me into town each year to purchase new clothes to accommodate my growing paunch. Today, when I step on a scale, I see the needle fly all the way to ***!

The thing about my weight that really bothers me is the way people look at me. When I walk in a supermarket, I see people staring. I know what they are thinking. I know people use words like, fatso, blimp, barge, blubber man, plump, big boned, stocked for famine, pregnant, obese, convex, structurally challenged, couch, Manuel Uribe Garza, and many other words that are too exciting to print, including some that have been banned by weight watchers (who are marvelous loving people, by the way). I see some mothers talk to their children as I walk by, some even point. They are telling their children to eat their fruits and vegetables, but not too many of them. They are telling their children that I am the result of too much candy. The only solace I find in my entire weight situation, is the knowledge that I serve as a waddling warning klaxon to this nation's youth.

I remember when a man approached me and asked“When is the baby due?” This comment hurt me so deeply that I could not think of a suitable response for over 10 minutes. However after some careful thought, I approached the man and asked him “When is YOUR baby due?” I felt that this was an appropriate comment until he demonstrated that he was much stronger than I. So strong, in fact, that he was able to pick me up and throw me through a glass door, which is no small feat given my aforementioned weight.

There is one thing, one person, who makes me more sensitive about my weight than anything else: My girlfriend, the apple of my eye. I know that the joy of my life loves me even with my extra five pounds, but I want to be the best I can for my Jewel. My Ruby is perfect in every way. There is nothing that can stand next to her and scratch even one tenth of one percent of her amazing personality. That smile. The softness of her voice when she greets me. Her very name means pure, and she is the purest of gold. I want my sugar plumb to be happy. I don't want my cookie to be burdened with the sadness of looking at me each day, and knowing that I am overweight; knowing that someday I will die and that my weight problem is only speeding up the process. I know my darling sweetheart would never tell me she is concerned about my weight because she knows how much it hurts for me, but I know it hurts her. I know it when her arms can't quite make it all the way around me when we hug. I see it in my baby's eyes when we pretend to watch a sunset. It is mainly because of the sorrow I cause my guiding light, my love, my soul mate, my honey bee, my 29 out of 29 on eharmony, that I have been diligently working on reducing my weight.

Each year I have employed a different weight loss strategy in the hopes of regaining a svelte appearance.

Year 1) THE YEAR OF IGNORANCE: I ignored my weight in the hopes that my problem would disappear. Though this strategy felt good and was the easiest, it failed miserably.

Year 2) THE YEAR OF LIPOSUCTION: They sucked a good ten pounds out of me. Let me say that liposuction is a real rush. Anyone who has not tried it should definitely give it a shot. It beats any roller coaster I have ever been on. Sadly I could not keep the weight off. I gained that weight back and another 10 pounds afterwards.

Year 3) THE YEAR OF GASTRIC BANDING: Stomach Stapling. It sounds really bad, but it isn't. They give you lots of morphine and other addictive narcotics that make the whole thing truly enjoyable. It certainly made my stomach smaller, but it didn't keep me from eating. I ate constantly and, though I had a reduced stomach capacity, I kept my gizzard stuffed to the brim. I gained more weight that year than the previous two years combined.

Year 4) THE YEAR OF JEREMY: My tape worm...at least he was my tapeworm until my doctor found out. I opted for adoption. Low and behold I had a friend who was searching for a companion. That gentleman took my friend, named him Jeremy and has been treating him with uncommon dignity for many years now. I still go see him sometimes to catch up. I miss him, but I know he is in good care. The surgery that separated me from my friend lost me five pounds. Jeremy had kept me from gaining weight, but once again I could not keep the weight off.

Year 5) THE YEAR OF ELECTRICITY: I got serious. For those of you who have been electrocuted, you know the weight benefits. For twenty minutes a day I would stick my finger in an electrical outlet, and let nature fry my adipose tissue. Let me say that the biggest barrier between me and my weight goal, is my doctor. Right when I have a good thing going, he always steps in and tries to stop it. I think he likes me being fat. One day my mother found me with my finger in the outlet, she immediately took me to the doctor (I wonder if my own mother has turned on me!). The doctor immediately took me off of my weight program (which had been working marvelously) and prescribed me some pills which were supposed to help my heart and liver out after the 'damage' I had caused them. To this day I do not know why losing weight would hurt your heart, much less your liver. I know my heart is important, but I really don't care all that much for my liver, the doctor had put me on 600mg of different medicines a day. I never took a single one of those pills. Imagine how much more I would weigh if you add 600mg a day up. According to Google over one year I would add a whole 219,000mg to my weight.

Year 6) THE YEAR OF THE MACHINE: Kids, don't try this at home. I created an apparatus that would –EDITED FOR CONTENT— I placed myself in the concaver –EDITED FOR CONTENT— needless to say the pain was unbearable –EDITED FOR CONTENT— I really think that my brother chose the wrong moment to enter the room. His shock was understandable after all I had just finished –EDITED FOR CONTENT— That was when they sent me to that doctor again –EDITED FOR CONTENT— I didn't take those pills either. I may get headaches every day, but I think it is worth it. I couldn't keep that weight off though. In one month I gained back the fifty pounds I lost. Talk about demoralizing

Year 7) THE YEAR OF AUXILIARY ORGAN AMPUTATION: This year, is amputation year. My body is chock full of organs and other things I just don't need. I can do without my appendix, and one of my kidneys can go. I heard of one guy who survived with only one lung. Most of my teeth can go. What do the ones in the back do for you? No one can see them unless you choose to make an exposé out of it. I am thinking about removing one of the muscles that makes up my bicep, maybe go for a the unicep look, maybe even do the same operation to my tricep. Really now, who needs two or three muscles when you can have one do the job. I also am going to shave my head, my eyebrows, and cut off my eyelashes. Dedication is a must to seriously lose weight. My ears can go - the outside part is not needed to hear. My nose (which is INCREDIBLY large and weighty) can be removed. If it worked for Michael Jackson, it can work for me. I am also looking into removing large muscles and tendons. Who really needs their Achilles tendon? The only person I know of who did anything with that thing was Achilles, and that killed him. I don't want to die, I figure that tendon can go. If all that doesn't work, I can amputate my head. A friend once told me that head removal is the best way to lose the ugliest eight pounds on your body. I like that, kill two birds with one stone.

The long and the short of it is that I need help. I am writing this to let out some of the frustration that has built up within me. Many people have called me "anorexic," told me I am "skinny" and made other unhelpful remarks about my weight when I bring it up. I have even had some who chose to laugh in my face about it. Only recently did I find someone who showed true understanding and compassion towards my problem. If it weren't for her, I doubt I would have the courage to write this, even if it is anonymous. I am asking for your help, for your collective cybersupport. I am counting on you.

[FCN], as they don't say in China.

Warning: The following post contains explicit, insensitive racist material. Please don't read if you qualify for affirmative action.

A fan of FCN who recently moved to China has bemoaned a fact which leaves her in a rut and us patting ourselves on the back in congratulations. The fact is this: FCN is censored. The People's Republic of China has decided that Funny Class Notes is not beneficial to the ideological health of the nation. Well, all right!

Of course, we're not ones to celebrate lying down. Nope. We've got to get the bottom of things. We got to meet the people responsible and shake them warmly by the hand. That's why, last weekend, we took the bus to China.

We arrived in Beijing late Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining and the beatings were only just getting started. We could tell this was going to be a great weekend. Then we tried to catch a taxi to the Ministry of Information, and our mood rapidly went sour. The irreverent driver pretended not to speak English! Of course we didn't fall for this, and told him with increasingly threatening tones of voice that we were American cowboys and we would whup his succulent T-Bone if he didn't take us to the Ministry of Information. A half hour passed, with him yelling rapid-fire Chinese and the three of us tag teaming so our throats could get a rest. Finally, he relented.

"Okay, I'll take you," He said, with a charming trace of an accent. "Get in the car."

We arrived at the Ministry just at dusk. There were armed guards standing outside, and when we told them who we were, they dragged Dan back behind the building and started beating the tar out of him. We were unfazed. In fact, our spirits were still pretty high. As a group, that is; Dan looked kinda fazed.

We got into another shouting match with the guards. This time, we lost, and were forced to beat a hasty retreat to other side of the street. It was clear to us that reason didn't work with these people. After all, this was an oppressed country. One couldn't just walk up the ministry and ask for an appointment with the bureaucrat who nixed the only website linking to your T-Shirt gallery. It was time to stop doing things the Chinese way. It was time to unleash a little good ol' Americana on these unsuspecting orientals.

But first we had to wait for Dan. That took awhile. While we waited, we skimmed the headlines of a newspaper on a nearby bench, which had headlines like: PARTY SOLVES ANOTHER PROBLEM and EVERYTHING IS FINE STILL.

Eventually Dan returned from his beating. We quietly made our way to the parking lot and found a spot marked (not counting the Chinese): MINSTER OF INFORMATION. Using skills we learned playing Grand Theft Auto back in kindergarten, we broke into the vehicle and hid ourselves in the back seat. We also acquired weapons.

After several minutes, the door to the car opened and a man plopped into the driver's seat. As soon as the car was fairly moving, Dan put him in a deadlock (rather passionately, I thought), and told him to stay calm. The man foolishly decided not to follow Dan's sage advice. He yelled and screamed until the tightening arm cut off his wind pipe.

"Now, you listen to me," Dan growled. "We came to tell you something, and by gum, we're going to get it told if we have to strangle half the Imperial Guard to do it. We're the FCN team. We saw you censored our blog, and we're pretty happy about it. We wanted to come over and say thank you."

The man's face was red and his eyes were bugging out, apparently indicating some sort of Chinese acknowledgment. In China, they don't just say "You're welcome," or "Don't mention it." They bug their eyes out and make guttural noises. It's a strange culture. Unless you've studied the subtleties like us, you really can't hope to interact with the Chinese.

Anyway, we bailed out of the car and caught the next bus ride back home. Then we checked our email. We had a message from the Minister. It read:

"Sirs - I heard reports earlier of your attack on my driver and say that this behavior must not be allowed to jeopardize the relationship between China and US which is already very dangerous."

We love you, too, Minister.

Open Letter

Some of you were apparently distraught by yesterday's post which referenced the past in the future tense. We used the word "yesterday" to refer an event which happened the day before and today we will make the old record current. Got all that?

Some probably assumed, erroneously, that yesterday's use of "yesterday" was a mistake. You know what they say about assumptions. We were actually trying to point out a major flaw in the time space continuum and derive a semi-semantic conclusion about the ineptitude of the modern tongue. So, in reality, you were the ones who made a mistake. Makes you think twice about the English language doesn't it?

Well, how's that for an excuse? I think we're getting better at it.

Dear Matt Damon,

You rock. You have this knack for adding gravity to every role you play and transforming mediocre scripts into critically and popularly acclaimed masterpieces. Your face has this amorphous quality to it exudes manliness, sensitivity and art all at the same time. You are, without a doubt, one of the finest male leads ever to act in Hollywood and have proven your versatility with numerous roles. You are an A-list actor and one of the best on that list.

You – and this is going to get even more gushy than the first paragraph so skip down a few lines if you're the judging kind – make me swoon like no other man. I mean that in a purely man-man context; but you still make me swoon. Maybe swoon isn't the right word...

At the same time there is an ugly rumor – the kind of rumor that ruins the reputation of respectable junior high girls – that you will be abandoning your loyal fans; leaving us behind and ignoring our cinematic desires. I'm writing, of course, about the Bourne franchise and the recent announcement of two new movie adventures in planning...without you. Rumor has it you are leaving Robert Ludwig's creation behind and that, because you don't want to be typecast as an action hero, you are going to seek your fame and fortune elsewhere. You said as much in an promotion interview for your latest film, Ocean's Thirteen.

You, Matt, are the only person who can carry the role of Jason Bourne. I have followed the series since you were first introduced in Identity and completely associate you with the quick thinking former black operations officer. You define the role. Matt Damon and Jason Bourne are synonyms in my book. Your parents may just as well have named you for that role; had they known Ludwig, I would suspect the connection.

If you choose to move away from the Bourne franchise, you will join legions of down and out actors who left what worked to “try something different” only to be panned later on. Al Pacino could have stuck with successful movies like Godfather, but he decided to seek himself in overacted critical flops like Simone. Halle Berry had a great career ahead of her before she settled for Catwoman. Even Robin Williams, the genius behind Mrs. Doubtfire, had to let it all go to star in stupid comedies like the one in theaters now. William's only recent good movie was Good Will Hunting, which, coincidentally, was a movie you wrote and starred in.

Can't you read the tea leaves?

Please say that your comments were a publicity move to direct the media to your current project. Please deny the rumors and say you will never forsake your loyal fans. Please don't abandon us. Please make another movie so I can get of my knees and stop my crazy Bourne vigils. Please, Matt?

Respectfully,

Funny Class Notes

C*ns*r*d

Th* c*nt*nt *f th*s p*st h*s b**n c*ns*r*d. Th* s*bj*ct m*tt*r *s n*t *n*ppr*pr**t*, n*r d* w* th*nk *t *s l*k*ly t* *ff*nd; w* j*st c*ns*r*d f*r th* h*ck *f *t. *f y** *r* th*nk*ng *b**t try*ng t* *nt*rpr*t th*s *r m*k* *t l*g*bl*, pl**s* th*nk *g**n.

W* *bv***sly d*n’t w*nt y** t* b* r**d*ng *t, s* why *r* y** *xp*nd*ng th* *ff*rt?

S*r***sly, w* c**ld h*v* m*d* th*s c*mpl*t*ly r**d*bl* *nd r*m*v*d *ll th* *st*r*x*s, b*t w* d*dn’t. S* g* t* th* n*xt p*st d*wn *r w**t f*r t*m*rr*w f*r *nc*ns*r*d c*nt*nt.