The Skin They're In
I'm watching the Discovery Health Channel, which has GOT to be the biggest schadenfreude EVAH.
I was just contemplating going downstairs for a nice bowl of sugar-free jello when this show came on about a 750-pound man...SEVEN. HUNDRED. FIFTY. POUNDS. How exactly does a person get to be that big? I mean, how many boxes of mac and cheese do you have to down each and every day to get that ginormous? Oh, the horror, I mean, bedsores and mangy skin, he couldn't even put a shirt on (yeah, so we saw him NAKED...I threw up in my mouth a little bit). He had to have some sort of glandular problem. HAD to. Part of me was bitching him out for letting his eating get way outta hand, and part of me was a little bit sorry for him...you get that big, you can't exactly work out, I mean, you'd break the stairmaster, and where would you find yoga pants THAT big? Poor guy died at the end of the show, septic shock. Makes that leftover Valentines Day chocolate in the kitchen seem not so appealing anymore.
Then this bodacious woman came on with enhanced 38F cups. F! I sincerely didn't know they came that big. She has to sleep sitting up 'cause they hurt so much, and they look like bowling balls. I swear, if I EVER think I need breast augmentation surgery, slap me really hard, m'kay? I'd much rather sag than look like I'm hiding a pair of cantaloupes under my shirt.
EW! They just removed her implants...one is 10 pounds..the other is TWELVE! That's just wrong. That's a huge sack of potatoes on EACH side of her body, and how the hell did her skin keep that in? Gah.
(I just hefted my breasteses under the samurai t-shirt I'm wearing, with no bra after my shower, and y'know, they're not boom-chicka-boom, but they're real...and they're soft...and they're fantastic.)
Fack that, I'm going for the jello.