I was going to just leave it at the headline. Look at the headline again.
I said look at it again, I will wait.
You really don’t need any kind of embellishment. That pearl of journalistic prose says it all. But then I saw THIS!:
“Standard-sized needles failed to reach the buttock muscle in 23 out of 25 women whose rears were examined after what was supposed to be an intramuscular injection of a drug.”
23 OUT OF 25? Women, you are getting so fat it makes me SICK!! And after all of the work I have been doing to make you uncomfortable in your own body, were you even listening?! Yes, the bigger the cushion the better the pushin, but I don’t want to sit around and stare at my cushions all day. They’re ugly! They’re fat ugly blobs! Like your ugly butt that can’t get its medicine! And don’t tell me that there is more of you to love, either. If you lost that weight we talked about there would still be plenty. Believe me. More than enough. Still even a little bit too much but what am I going to do? Cut it out of you myself?
I did have a dream last night that I was on a date with a fat girl and dreameveryone was like, “Worker #3116, she’s kind of fat,” and dreamme was like, “I know, I didn’t have my glasses on when I met her.” And her fatness kept going in and out of focus in the dream because I still didn’t have my glasses on and she would move in and out of my natural seeing range, and then there was this long moral quandary where dreamme was trying to figure out how to let her down easy because she was really nice, and then also how to justify sleeping with her just one time and then letting her down easy because she was really nice.
Then I woke up, strangely alone.