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 Mark Sanford

24 06 2009

Dear Governor Sanford,

You, sir, are a pimp.  A hustla.  Nay, a modern-day Casanova!

Going down to Argentina to spend some time with your honey on the side during Father’s Day weekend, leaving your wife and four kids back in South Carolina?  Nice.  Although I bet you missed out on a good dinner and a couple of gifts celebrating you being Dad of the Year.  On second thought, maybe that didn’t happen.

Anyway, going back to your international rendevous.  Apparently your wife has known about it for five months, and you still kept on keeping on?  That’s real pimp, man.  I’m sure you invoked that “It’s not cheating if I’m in a different time zone” clause.  And wouldn’t you know it, it worked!  Like I said, that’s real pimp.

One quick question, though: In your speech to the public after you were called out on your infidelity, you spent some time detailing how much you enjoyed the Appalachian mountain range.  Obviously this little segment was linked to the story that was given to the media in the first place, about you going on a nature hike.  Here’s the question, though: Why bother talking about it when you didn’t really go hiking?  That’s like me talking about hooking up with Heidi Klum.  Yeah, I enjoy her, but I’m not going to go around telling people we hooked up (Because, unlike you, I believe in the sanctity of marriage, and wouldn’t want to rend Klum’s union to Seal, that talented, lucky man).

Now that I think about it, Governer (Or as a Cockney would say it, Guv’na), you really aren’t that much of a pimp at all.  As you said in your speech, bottom line is you let down a lot of people.  At least you’re self-aware enough to realize that.

Here’s my bottom line: You’re 49 years old.  I’m going to chalk this up to you having a midlife crisis and acting out in an irresponsible manner, without any thought to the harm you could cause to other people.  Go make things right with your wife and kids.

Then, once all that’s done, go back to the Bible-thumping ways you love.  After all, you wouldn’t want the opposition to gay marriage lose one of its major players, would you?

I thought not.

ZA

PS: I know this is the second open letter in a row.  I think I might make it a series.  Agree?  Disagree?  Let your opinion be heard in the comments section!