I pondered your "Lard Ass" editorial as I occupied 2 1/2 coach-class airline seats on a recent flight from San Diego to El Paso.....munching on my 14th box of Little Debbie Snack Cakes (TM)......sweating profusely through my 5XL t-shirt and 4XL "expando-flex" athletic shorts.....feeling my clogged arteries struggle to provide ample blood and oxygen to my brain.....and simultaneously wondering why I blow out a pair of underwear every time I bend down to retrieve that hidden Cheetoh right below the refrigerator door.  I'm simply convinced that you insensitive people have missed the point.

It's not MY fault that I'm HORIZONTALLY CHALLENGED.....and you bastards better start using the politically correct term!  But to be fair, how could my mother have known that coating her nipples with Smucker's Caramel Topping was the WRONG enticement for breast feeding?  How could my parents have realized their poor judgment and possible liability when, in their zeal to be creative, they forced me to play in a childhood "fort" constructed of 793 Hostess Twinkies and encourage me to eat my way out?  I mean, I had to escape in time for supper, don't ya know.

I remember the pain of swallowing my 45th hot-dog at my 5th birthday party......it's just that it made me so happy to see Daddy smile as he watched the value of pork bellies soar on the commodities exchange.....and I really wanted to do my part.  And, with every pound gained--and every new trip to the store to buy bigger clothes, cotton farmers cheered and bought Cadillacs.....and again, Daddy smiled.  So, he and those farmers really do shoulder part of the blame for my girth.  Sure, I should have realized that things were amiss when I was 9......sat down on my bicycle pump and lost it in the crack of my ass.....but youth precludes wise judgement.....and I just considered it to be one of those "Bermuda Shorts Triangle" disappearances--ya know, like the puppy/G.I. Joe/Hotwheels collection/baseball glove/Boy Scout Canteen discoveries by a doctor during my first rectal exam at age 21.  Maybe I should have known, but it really wasn't MY fault.  Manufacturers are THE ones at fault for making items that can be so easily....well......"enveloped".

So, here I am, at age 37......and the only difference between me and a beached whale is 50 pounds and a flannel shirt.  And, as I feel small pieces of Krispy Kreme donut glaze float down onto my ample male breasts after I polish off 3 dozen freshly baked "energy pills", I consider rolling myself over to the phonebook so that I can call a lawyer that will assist me in recovering damages for my ominous health condition.

WHAT?  You don't believe anything you just read?  Well, that's because you're actually smart.  I'm a big guy because I love--and CHOOSE--to eat lotsa good food!!  And whose choice is that?  MINE.  And who's responsible for the inevitable massive coronary?  ME.  And will it bother me that, while I'm finishing my 5th plate at "Fifteen Chins China Buffet", that my pencil-thin, twig-shaped, California neighbors will be gagging on tofu and eagerly awaiting their nightly "gotta purge myself before I get a stretch mark" enema?  HELL NO. I mean, damn, paradise is a personal thing.  And it just so happens that my paradise comes with special sauce.

And here's a final word for anyone who wants to escape the blame or consequences for their personal lifestyle choices by blaming others and holding them liable:  You need to have your ass beat hard.  Maybe if you'd had your ass beat earlier in life when you made bad choices (like mine was in Texas public schools), you'd feel more compelled to thoughtfully consider your options before executing a bad plan of action.  But that's a subject for another letter, isn't it?  That is all.

Regards,
David