Okay, so I'll be up front about it. All of my weight can be attributed to either slow digestion (the fault of my genetics) or my low impulse aversion levels (to be blamed on commercial advertising.) Either way, it is absolutely not my fault at all that I am a massive fucking pig. Do you really think I enjoy getting up in the morning and eating an entire restaurant-sized box of Eggo's, a stick of butter and a bottle of Golden Griddle? Is it fun to wash all that food down with a quart of chocolate milk? NO! Genetics has forced my hand in every situation that I can remember. Where a normal person takes one cookie from the plate in the break room, I take all but one. This is not my choice, this is fate. Fate is a cruel big brother that laughs at my misfortune while kicking Snickers bars down my slowly swelling throat. I get so hungry sometimes my ass actually starts to eat my pants as can be seen in this photo. That's right, my body becomes so starved for food that being close to any bodily opening is not safe. I lost the tip of one finger in my belly button last year. It only looks like I'm playing with my children in this photo, but I'm not. I ate my own kids years ago and I'm going to eat these kids too. I'm just biding my time until the prick with the camera gets bored and fucks off. Being fat is not a way of life I have chosen, it fell out of the sky and landed on my face when I was just an infant. Since then, I must eat. I will eat. I'll eat even if it means sitting on a pile of chicken so I can get it going in both ends to save time. Fuck restraint. I've got bad genes.
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