It was a typical Monday night — hanging out with my girlfriend, watching “Monday Night Football.” After a timely beverage run, we began watching the game and I couldn’t believe my eyes.
No, it wasn’t John Madden’s incoherence. It was the nutritional content of my Hershey’s Milkshake.
I was startled by the number of calories contained in the plastic bottle of joy. The Vanilla Cream milkshake has 320 calories — per serving.
Yeah, the bigwigs of the Hershey Foods Corporation are quite deceptive. There are two servings in that 14 ounce bottle of heaven.
In a shocking development, I wound up not caring. I continued to drink that milkshake. When I was finished with my decadent drink, I felt fat; full but happy — just like John Madden. Except I don’t start every freakin’ sentence with “Yeah, and …”
It’s no secret, we’re a calorific civilization. When our society crumbles, aliens will excavate Earth and find giant pants and bras, and remark on how our countrymen were so fortunate. “Greebl glit zlikah nyolh brzlip,” they might say of us. Don’t ask me what that means — I don’t speak Alpha Centaurian. All I can tell you is it’s a compliment.
In Hollywood, directors, producers and other latte-sippers with ponytails are selling shows and movies featuring paper-thin actresses and emaciated boytoys. These flagpole-thick models make the homeless look like Refrigerator Perry. What ever happened to portly citizens projected as royalty?
King Henry VIII rarely had people make fun of him for being a porker. Those who did were known as “traitors” and consequently became “chandeliers in the dungeon.” Henry VIII’s obesity was the biggest framework (zing) of his legacy. His character was immortalized in the hit Herman’s Hermits tune, “I Am Henry VIII, I Am.”
People would sing this tune, not caring that Henry VIII weighed about MVIII pounds. What they’re really singing is, “I’m a big fat slob, I am / Big fat slob I am, I am / I got married to the widow next door / She’s never married someone fat before.”
Caesar had his own empire, and his salad dressing is tastier than that of noted thin man Paul Newman.
Santa Claus has an even bigger empire. He would eat about 5 million cookies on Christmas morning, if he were real. (To our tiny readers: he’s real!)
The aforementioned Madden has created his own universe with the Madden NFL video games. It’s hard to estimate how much money he’s made (because that takes actual research) but suffice to say, he’s got enough bloomin’ onions in the bank for the rest of his life. Boom!
Overweight comedians are comfortable with their bodies as well. Louie Anderson, while unfunny, is able to joke about his weight. Drew Carey is OK with his body as well, and he has two strikes against him in today’s society because he is also ugly. Three strikes if you count his love for the accordion.
It’s understandable that people are self-conscious about their weight. They don’t want people like me to make fun of them. Consider this: no matter what your weight is, I will find some way to make fun of you. If you make my job easy, then your large presence will prevent me from uncovering your shameful history of violent diarrhea.
And if you think you’re fat, consider yourself a step ahead of everyone else. It doesn’t stop you from finding true love. Just ask Star Jones, because she is not only a lawyer, but also married.
So I’ll keep drinking those milkshakes. Their taste is out of this world, and it’s easier to drink them than to stop drinking them. (Rehab is for quitters.) Carbs, cals, fatty acids — I officially don’t care. Heart disease is inevitable, whether I’m overweight or poisoned by an angry reader.
We’re the richest country in the world. Fat should not be a quality associated with shame — it should be synonymous with happiness. Those large football fans who tailgate in parking lots eating chips and brats should be America’s spokesmodels. Jennifer Aniston would freeze to death in such an unforgiving environment.
If I had to dream one way or the other, I’d rather be with the mammoths grilling burgers outside Lambeau Field. I wouldn’t want to let those aliens down when they unearth my XXL Packers jersey, cheese helmet and Herman’s Hermits album.
Chew the fat with Matt at [email protected].
