An Open E-Mail to Congress. Re: Fat Tax.

21 08 2009

Dear Congress,

On my way to work Wednesday morning, I was introduced to yet another new kind of tax that you were kicking the idea of levying against people: The Fat Tax.  Also known as the Twinkie Tax, and et cetera.

For those representatives in the Senate and House who have either been absent or haven’t cared, the Fat Tax is simple: People whose Body Mass Index or Body Fat Percentage is higher than what the standard is, would be taxed according to how far above the standard they were.  An example would be if someone whose standard weight should be 180 lbs, but weigh 200 lbs, would be taxed relative to the excess amount of weight.

And for those of you who still don’t understand what I’m talking about, I’ll make it even simpler: Tax the fatties.  Tax ’em all!

Now being the large guy I am…Ah, hell, let’s skip with the pleasantries, yeah?  Being the fatty I am, one would think that I would be up in arms, rallying my overweight compatriots to action!  We’re mad as hell and we won’t take it anymore!  Circle up the Rascal scooters, we’re staging an eat-in!

Predictable, yeah?  But oh no, Congress.  I’m quite on the other side of the argument.  In fact, I am all for this.  Hell, I’m ready to be the most ardent supporter!

My only qualm is that this does not go far enough in eliminating the plague that is Obesity which taints our public beaches and pools, our hip nightclubs, our amusement park rides.  Therefore, I have prepared a few ideas that I want you to take to those gloriously healthy hearts you all have.

1) Propaganda: No good movement ever went anywhere without some awesome propaganda, right?  You need to make posters, t-shirts, coffee mugs, anything that you can get the message that being a fatty is bad!  Using my rudimentary artistic talents, I have taken to MSPaint, using myself as an example of those horrible fat fat fatties you want out of your lives:

Fat and doesn't own Photoshop?  I'm useless!

Fat and doesn't own Photoshop? I'm useless!

Now like I said, this is completely rudimentary.  But I’m sure you could have one of those fit, fabulous interns spiffy something up for you in a hurry.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg, dear friends.  I can see it now…You have a photo of a beautiful woman, looking out seductively, as if she is beckoning you to join her in the vast sea that is her love.  But, what’s this?…Under her photo you can have something that reads: “Want this in real life?  Eat a carrot, Fattie!”

It’s imperative that you use an epithet for a large person every chance you get in this propaganda.  Other suggested insults include Tubby, Lard-ass, Fat-Neck, Butterball, The Crisco(TM) Kid, and Fatty McFatterson.

2) Discrimination: Let’s face it, us fat people bring down the scene wherever we are.  No one likes to be near us.  We sweat profusely, occasionally have trouble breathing, and more than likely eat all the dip while leaving too many chips.  So what better way to convince us that we are loathsome, horrible people than by alienating us even more?  Have two classrooms, one for normal students, another for “sizable” students.  Don’t worry, I know you gotta be politically correct in most schools these days, so I’ll let the omission of the word “Fat” slip by.  And the reason I’ll let it slip by is there will be no way whatsoever those kids in the “sizable” class will not realize that they have been the bane of normal-sized students’ days forever!  Yes, the chairs will be reinforced with titanium!  The corners of the desks and tables will be padded, so as to avoid torn clothing when their bulbous bodies scrape against the wood!  At the cafeteria, the shelves containing the junk food will be nailed high, so that the only way to get to them is to use a ladder that can carry no more than 250 lbs!  It’s brilliant!

And finally, Number 3) Relocation: Just relocate the fatties.  Get rid of ’em all.  Put ’em in, I don’t know, North Dakota.  Who lives in North Dakota, anyway?  I know the answer after we move the fatties to North Dakota.  The fatties will live in North Dakota, far away from any beaches, landmarks, or tourist attractions.  And there’ll be no worry of a revolution.  Sure, the fatties will fight against it a little bit, but they’ll tire out quickly and probably just take an unintentional nap in the chair of their Rascal scooter.

I know number 3 sounds harsh, but hey, relocating a large group of people into an area that is not their own has worked out great for the USA before, right?  I mean, it worked great when we moved those Native Americans into Oklahoma.  It was especially efficient during World War II, when we had those camps for people of Japanese descent?  Yeah, they both went smoother than Land o’ Lakes on a piece of toast.

Uh-Oh, looks like this Fatty is getting hungry again!  Ha ha, ain’t that always the case?

Well, I guess I better get going.  You know, so much self-loathing to do, so little time!  Anyway, I wish you the best of luck with this tax, and I hope you seriously consider some of my suggestions.  If you need to contact me, by all means do so!  After all, you already have my information.  Just don’t come by at night, otherwise my sleep apnea might just drive you crazy!

With love (Ugh, fat love, the worst kind!),

ZA

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An open letter to “Speidi”

16 06 2009

Dear “Speidi” (aka Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag)

I’m not sure when you’ll read this letter.  Maybe in a day, maybe in a month, maybe in a year.  I do know for certain, however, that you will read it.  How am I certain, you may be asking yourselves?  Well, I may be wrong, but I’m fairly certain you have one of those applications, possibly Digg, wherein when your name is mentioned in any way, shape or form, the application informs you of such happenings.  Maybe there’s a little bell that goes off.  Maybe a choir of angels descends from the sky to let you know that yes, once again, you’re being talked about.

All I know is that hopefully this will be my one and only letter to you.  I figure I should get it out now, while you’re still gracing the American public with your positive attitudes and selfless behavior…never mind.

You see, Speidi, I just don’t care.  I don’t care about either of you.  Not at all.  I don’t care that you got married.  I don’t care about what you wear, what you eat.  I don’t care what new form of media you’re attempting to break into.  I honestly just don’t care.

As far as I can tell, a lot of people also don’t care.  You see, a lot of people are right now going through a rough patch in their lives.  A lot of them are losing these things called “jobs” where they “work” so they can “earn” money so they continue “keeping their home” or “going to college”.  I know that the words in quotations may be foreign to you, but I assure you they are not Spanish, French, nor Esperanto.  So you can eliminate those dictionaries from your search while you try to figure out what they mean.

Oh, and a “dictionary” is a big book where you can look up words.

Now, where was I?  Ah, right, not caring.

If you’ve read this far, Speidi, I’m sure you’re tearing your well-groomed hair out in tufts, ripping your designer shirts while crying to the heavens (that means you’re looking up) “Why, oh why does this person not care about us?!  How dare he!”  Bottom line is I just don’t find you interesting.  At all.  You contribute nothing to my life.  No joy, no harm, no rage, nothing.  To me, you’re just a pair of spoiled children who have yet to learn that after a certain age, you have to begin taking responsibility for your actions.

I did make fun of you in this letter.  And odds are I will continue making fun of you at any given chance.  I will not, however, be searching for these chances with any effort.  Rather, I will let them fall into my lap without working for them.  This philosophy is something I’m sure you both can understand, having used it throughout your entire lives.

Other than that, your names will never be spoken by me.  I will never imitate your styles.  I will never envy the life you have.

I don’t have a lot of money.  I haven’t appeared on a TV show.  And I don’t have people following me around, taking various photos of me in mundane activities.

But what I do have are friends who are happy to be in my company.  I have the goal to better myself each day in some way.  And I also have the dream that maybe, just maybe something I do in my life is going to have a resoundingly positive impact on society.

So, by all means, keep doing what you do, whatever it is that you do.  Enjoy it while you do it.  Just don’t expect me or anyone else I know to pay attention to it.

 

 

ZA