(Update: Trigger warning: This guy is a misogynist, fatphobic asshole, and his blog entry is extremely disturbing; the passage I excerpt here is far from the worst part. If you’d rather read something less nausea-inducing, you can go here or read this. Or you can go eat an almond-custard croissant as big as your head, which is what I’m doing right now.)
I tell this story a lot, and people, girls especially, often ask me if regret what I did. Well, first they get real mad at me and act like they are offended, but then they ask me if I regret it. In a way I do; it was kinda mean. But I was only like 23 when it happened; what do you expect from me? Compassion? Caring? Should I have just invited her out to meet my friends and stay for a night cap? Yeah, I guess that’s what most guys would have done. And that’s why most guys are hard-up schmucks who couldn’t get laid in a monkey whorehouse with a bag of bananas.
What really cracks me up is when girls ask me if I’d do something like this again. Of course I wouldn’t. I already fucked a fat girl once, why would I do it again? That’s a stupid question.
This story brought up a lot of remembered words from Andrea Dworkin, fat chick, but I’m just gonna go with these, which I chanted whenever I felt like purging:
“Does the sun ask itself, “Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?” No, it burns and it shines. Does the sun ask itself, “What does the moon think of me? How does Mars feel about me today?” No it burns, it shines. Does the sun ask itself, “Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies?” No, it burns, it shines.”
–Andrea Dworkin
From Our Blood