In Praise Of Fat Shaming
To begin the year, your truly would like to give you some wisdom from the old world in which he had the blessing and privilege to grow up. A world in which words like “political correctness” were unknown. A world full of beautiful women and manly men, each sex doing their own to keep the proper order of society.
That was a world in which, if you were fat (or drug addict, or alcoholic, or lazy, or a lot of other things besides) it was your fault. There was no worship of bogus “science” trying to explain away and rationalise the absurdity and monstrous deformity of mass obesity. As a result, very few people (astonishingly few compared to today’s Anglo-Saxon world, particularly among the young) were obese, and what was considered “fat” would, today, be considered “normal”.
In the same vein, if you were fat, it was your responsibility to put an end to it. Those people did not have much knowledge of modern nutrition science, you know (the “science” that justifies obesity in practice even as it decries it in abstract). They did not invent excuses for people with “slow metabolism”. They did not blame pizza shops for the fatness of people. They did not blame “inequality” and call for the working class to be able to afford caviar so that potatoes don’t make them fat anymore. They knew that if one was fat, he had made himself so. They knew that no one can say he has not noticed that he carries around 500,000 calories in excess fat. They knew that whatever rubbish food poor people ate, they would be thinner if they would eat less of that very rubbish. A degree of fatness (however, nothing comparable to the monstrous deformity I see around every day now) was observed only in two categories of people: the old and, but only among the working classes, those young women who thought that, as they were not beautiful, a degree of fatness would help them to acquire some feminine attraction to the other sex.
Similarly, the social control was so strong that feminazis and their soyboys would, today, call it against the human rights of the Gluttonous People. Think of this: fat children were scolded in front of the entire school class, and told to be ashamed of themselves. Overweight girls were publicly chastised by older women with words like “you will never find a decent husband!!”. Overweight boys were considered lazy and gluttonous. And you know what was the result of all this “oppression”? Thinness was the norm, and Italians enforced the norm with their usual, so refreshing, utterly non-PC brutality.
Today I read all that rubbish about Facebook, fashion magazines, scales and obviously bad, bad humans being responsible for the obesity of women. Women, mind my words, apparently so stupid that they are unable to see a beautiful thin woman in a magazine without going home and stuffing themselves with whipped cream and a can of ice cream because… they are not as thin as them.
Thanks for sharing, Ms Zeppelin. And do you have a guardian?
Then you have all the fake “science”, which fails to explain why Italians should be so genetically different from Brits, much less why the Brits of today should be so genetically different from the Brits of two generations ago.
“Ah, but there was no Instagram then!”.
Forget Instagram. I can assure you that 30 or 40 years ago a young girl could walk everywhere in Italy and see a number of young girls ranging from sexy to stunning, live and in 3D; which, actually, should have been a much bigger shock than a fake beauty in a photoshopped image. Guess what: those girls did not take the beauty of the stunners as an excuse to stuff themselves with donuts.
Modern society are rapidly becoming grotesquely deformed on the outside, a fitting reflection of their disgusting deformity inside. The 300 pound girl with zero impulse control is extremely likely to consider homosexuality normal, her own disgusting obesity “body positivity” and everyone who points out to them strangely resembling those old photos of a Zeppelin “oppressive” and “fat phobic”. Their deformity has begun inside way before it translated into half a million calories carried around.
Think rubbish, eat rubbish, look rubbish.
No, don’t give me any “science”. I prefer reality. I prefer a world in which people learn discipline, and to discipline themselves, from a young age, and in which correct behaviour is brutally enforced, because life is brutal.
And now go on, fat feminist stumbling upon this page: stuff yourself with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry, until you want to vomit, and then blame me.