Lifestyles of the fat and sweaty.

Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even walk within my four-foot perimeter. I just spent the entire day hurtling down the road in a 100-degree hotbox with a co-worker. No a/c. No open windows. No mercy. And let’s just say I’m a tad bit testy.

As I sat there, with droplets of sweat plummeting down the peaks and valleys of my backfat, the seatbelt was working overtime, doing its damndest to strangle me. It was a treacherous bitch, this seatbelt, reeling in and locking whenever I gave it a little slack. At one point, I made the mistake of leaning back in my seat, allowing the belt to completely retract into its housing.

So there I was, stuck in this ridiculous recline position, unable to lift my head from the headrest without crushing my larnyx. Did my co-worker see the struggle ensuing in the passenger seat? I determined that no, he did not. For if he caught even so much as a glimpse of me, I’m quite confident he would’ve pulled the car over, put a pencil in my mouth and called 911.

Now, any normal person would’ve undone the seat belt, pulled it out and simply repositioned it. But no, not me. I was all self-conscious, worried that maybe I had stretched the seat belt to its limits. I silently wondered if the seatbelt did this to all who occupied the passenger seat. I concluded that no, it didn’t. This here was just one more example of how the engineers of the world plot and plan to make us fat fucks suffer.

8 thoughts on “Lifestyles of the fat and sweaty.”

  1. I wish you’d get off of the fat kick. You seem like a great person and it bothers me to hear you run yourself down. Maybe that’s just your stichik (or however you spell that) but there are so many other people and things out there to make fun of as well. Give yourself a break already.

  2. K, if this is the co-worker who was complaining of the small, uncomfortable car, I’ll just have to laugh a little bit, even as I feel bad about your uncomfortable trip.

    I, too, have been strangled by those crappy car seats. The worst is that I totally spent my choking time feeling like some big, foaming, growling dog on a choke chain the whole time.

  3. how the engineers of the world plot and plan to make us fat fucks suffer.
    That could be a great title for a book.
    Happiness from one fat fuck to another.
    *mwah*!

  4. Ha. I have huge tits — esp cause I am currently knocked up — 42H. So seatbelts are my worst enemy. When they get this big, your boobs become a single entity and your bra is just a container for about 20lbs fat. There is no seperation, and therefore nowhere for the seatbelt to go. It just slides back and forth across my boob unit, alternately strangling me and irritating my pregnancy nipples. I usually just give up and put it under my arm.

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