Cake AND death, probably.

Around May, I noticed my jeans were getting tight, so I bought bigger jeans, but thought, “Oh, OK, wakeup call — I should lose some weight.”

Buuut I didn’t.

And then the bigger jeans started getting tight, and I thought, “NO. This is horseshit. I’m not spending MORE money — I’ll just lose some weight. For real this time.”

Buuut I didn’t.

So I bought the NEXT biggest size, and you know what? I am fucking COMFORTABLE. God, fat pants are the BEST. And the kinda stretchy fat pants with Spandex or whatever in ’em? DAMN. So good.

Screw it. The world is awful and cake is great.

(Ahem… This defiant attitude brought to you by the first time a doctor ever told me it might be good to lose some weight, which happened last week. But she based it on BMI, and BMI is fake news. Suck it, lady. #sheetcaking for the win.)

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Let’s make my ass great again.

Today I learned that my mother weighs herself every day, writes it down, and SAVES IT. I told her that sounds a little unhealthy, and she said, “It’s fine, it’s just that’s one of the only things I can control.”

NOT HELPING YOUR CASE, MA!

They weighed me at the doctor yesterday and it’s more than I’ve ever weighed, by, like, a LOT, so I made the mistake of telling her I need to lose some weight.

“Maybe you and I can do a contest and see who can lose the most weight!”

“Nope. Nooope. Hard pass.”

“Why? I thought that’d be motivation!”

“I am not contributing in any way to you doing that.”

You guys… HOW am I not in an institution?!

BTW, I feel like it’s no coincidence that I’ve gained 25 lbs since January. But fuck THAT — my ass will be great again.

I’m all about fitness — fitness whole dick in my mouth

Super cute OkCupid guy and I have tons in common, but he exercises every day and likes “fit” women.

OK, listen — I am not fit. But I’m pretty sure you could fuck fitness into me. We should try. What if I’m Patient Zero for innovative new science? We could be pioneers!

Tell ya what: Go down on me for 10 minutes today, I’ll go for a run tomorrow. Solid exchange, no? Plus, bonus, the more we repeat this process, the thinner my thighs get, the easier you fit between them. BOOM, everybody wins.

And hey, if it doesn’t work, feel free to ditch my fat ass after a month. I’ll have intimacy anxiety by then, anyway.

“Fatty fatsy fatterino”

BWAH HA HA…”During this whole fatty fatsy fatterino time people kept hitting on me, wanting to fuck me in my fat (but very tight!) pussy and, obviously, my asshole, which for me is a no-fly zone but I respect its power.”

This is part of why I don’t have a photo on this blog, or on the other (clean) one I write. I have neither time nor temperament to deal with shit like this.

Sara Benincasa via Medium.com:
Why Am I So Fat? A man wrote to me to ask why I gained weight. Here’s my response…