Rage against The Machine.

Coming out of the elevators yesterday, I ran into this guy who used to be an internal client of mine. I barely recognized him, for he had gained like 80 pounds. Poor guy. I feel bad for anyone who is on the heavy end of their weight cycle. It was just shocking though, because this guy (a.k.a. “The Machine”) used to bike 20 miles every day before work.

With slicked-back hair and skin like tanned leather, The Machine would pull into the parking ramp every morning in his spotless white Cadillac El Dorado. Straight-up old school bad-ass. I’m guessing while the rest of us were watching “Sixteen Candles” and “Weird Science” back in high school, he was jacking off to “Wall Street.” Greed is good, brotha. Greed is good.

The Machine was known for calling 8 o’clock meetings on Fridays, to which he was always fifteen minutes early. He oozed so much confidence, people tended to stutter and stammer in his presence. And he liked that. He was one of the first in our company to volunteer to be a Six Sigma Black Belt (one to examine all company processes and make them efficient – i.e. job cuts).

Now that The Machine is fat (like me), I expect we’ll soon be chatting it up like old girlfriends, discussing our kids’ poop schedules, comparing our mother’s bracelets and ranting about the sucky bra selection at Lane Bryant.

Fat has a way of doing that – making one seem weak and therefore approachable. Maybe this deeply-rooted perception is primal. Bump into a fat person, and you’d simply ricochet off of them like you would one of those inflatable castles. Run up against a thin person, and there’s a good chance you’d be impaled by their hip bone.

But methinks the world should be more fearful of The Fat. Beneath our jolly exteriors, we’re secretly plotting a hostile takeover of the world. From our command center at Krispy Kreme’s corporate headquarters, we will issue our demands. Every store will have a drive-through, and airlines will be forced to rip out those ass-pinchers they call seats and install Lazy Boy’s.

So if I were you, I’d be nice to The Fat. I mean, we’re accustomed to instant gratification. We’re not about to wait for karma to get off its lazy ass and punish you for your evil ways. Which reminds me — perhaps I should e-mail The Machine and ask him if he’s Six Sigma’d lunch yet. I’m guessing not.

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