Bill Maher is Right! Obesity is Disgusting!
It is not often that I agree with Bill Maher – however his recent tirade on “Fat Shaming” was dead on – Americans are not only fat, but disgustingly obese.
Maher is not the only person stating the obvious: Dear Fat People by Nicole Arbour.
As expected, the response from the “feel good” media has been viciously one-sided in support of fatties like James Cordon and the ladies on The View,
You would think that living in sunny Southern California, land of beach bums and bikinis, the ability to take a walk or a hike any day of the week mostly every day of the year we would be the healthiest people in the county.
How horribly wrong that picture is.
Maher is right – we can get away with criticizing – and/or making fun of people who smoke, it’s an unhealthy habit to be sure, and we can get away with insulting the very few who still wear real animal fur, myself included, but make a comment to an obese person and you’re liable to be sued for “hurting their feelings.” People, the TRUTH hurts, so why not DO something about it?
Shall I not say that looking at you taking up three seats, sucking four times the oxygen out of the room doesn’t offend ME?
Commercial industries don’t want us to be thin or healthy…there’s no profit in a healthy society. Quite the opposite. As early as 2012, businesses jumped on the “Fat wagon” Fat profits: Business embraces big people!
The clothing industry now has “plus-size” models, there are more 14-21 plus size clothes racks than 8-12, The giant warehouse stores even supply motorized carts so these fatties don’t even have to get any exercise, they just drive their carts from food station to food station stuffing their mouths with free samples and loading their carts with processed food that’s full of fat, sodium, cholesterol and sugar.
Don’t they have mirrors? Or are the mirrors in their homes distorted ones like those in the fun houses? These obese slobs don’t even bother to hide their rolls of fat in public. It’s almost as if they’re proud to show off their huge size by wearing tight fitting shirts in neon colors, or pants that show their underwear line up their butt crack! What they should wear is a huge sign on their ass “OVERSIZE LOAD” in bright neon!
What’s so depressing is that their children are just as fat – parents should be charged with child abuse – years from now these same kids are going to be a drain on the already suffering health care industry with high blood pressure and early onset diabetes that we’re ALL going to have to pay for one way or the other.
I will agree that in some circumstances there are generic traits that regulate some to be more prone to weight gain than others. While we’re not necessarily “born fat” our tastes and eating habits are formed at a very early age and if the adults serve meals loaded with fat and sugar, that’s what their children will also crave as they get older – so then they can blame their parents as why they can’t fit into a normal size theater seat.
Not a subjective observation. Growing up in the 50’s my mother knew nothing about healthy eating. Everything she served was fried. Vegetables consisted of corn, peas or potatoes. There was more starch on the dinner table than in my dad’s dress shirts.
Her weight loss method consisted of yelling at me, embarrassing me in front of my friends and forcing diet pills down my throat.
None of these worked. It wasn’t until I joined Weight Watchers, at the age of 16 that I learned about good eating habits and received the encouragement of a group of adults who also wanted to learn to make healthy food choices and healthier cooking methods.
After my first child was born, I went back to WW, lost 36 pounds in 16 weeks, went to work for the company and kept off the weight until daughter #3 was born. Over the next few years 25 pounds came creeping back, and when the scale went over the 150 mark, I ran back to WW, dropped the 25 pounds, ran a half-marathon and am now, once again a comfortable 137.
This isn’t an ad for Weight Watchers – it’s only a testimonial from one person who knows being overweight isn’t a “disease”, it’s not (in most cases) a hereditary malady….it’s a choice.
We’ve put “no smoking” signs in every public area to keep smokers away from non-smokers. Why can’t we also put a “no fatties” zone so the rest of us don’t have to be subjected to being disgusted by these slobs?
Why do the rest of us who worked hard to lose weight and live a healthy life style be subject to these disgusting fatties – sitting next to us on a plane – taking up two seats at a movie theater – waddling down the grocery aisle while stuffing free food into their mouths every step of the way?
And we’re not permitted to say anything because we can’t “hurt their feelings?”
GET OVER IT!
We’ve all heard the lame excuses: fatties can’t help themselves, fatties are born that way, and obesity is a DISEASE. Really?
You have control over your hand, over your arm, over your lips. It’s NOT a disease if you have the power NOT to put something that’s going to KILL you in your body, no matter what that toxic item is.
But, as long as we coddle to and cater and reward these hippos with huge acting and modeling contracts, listen to their “accept yourself as you are” bullshit and offer giant sized food portions and unlimited “all you can eat” buffets and don’t make them face the reality of what they’re doing to their bodies, their children’s future health and the rest of us who have to suffer living with them, Americans are going to get fatter while the rest of us will have to suffer in silence!
It’s Not Plastic v Paper that’s the Problem. It’s People
In the opening scenes of the movie “Independence Day”, Jeff Goldblum’s character was furiously taking soda cans out of the general trash and putting them in the recycle bin complaining to no one listening about how pollution was going to destroy our planet.
All the while the aliens were on their way to do that very thing and no amount of recycling was going to save the planet or anyone living on it.
Flash forward some 23 years. Cities across the country are passing laws that ban plastic straws! Plastic straws are now the “enemy” we have to destroy before they destroy our planet.
Really?
You don’t have to be a “MIT-educated technological expert” to know it’s not the material that’s the problem, it’s the people. People create garbage and people, in general, don’t care about the environment.
While it might make a few, very few, people feel good that they are using paper instead of plastic to improve our environment, the fact is that’s not necessary true.
See: Paper vs. Plastic Straws: Is Paper Really Better for the Environment?
What these paper v plastic laws do, in fact, is create a new revenue stream for the government with fines ranging from $100 to as much as $1,000 depending on how the ordinance is written.
Why stop at straws? Let’s make a law to get rid of ALL disposable plastics including diapers, water bottles, and the garbage bags we put our garbage IN!
Let’s not stop at being forced to sip our soda from a disintegrating straw. If we’re going to be serious about our disposable plastic problem, then let’s make a law to force of us to bring our own reusable containers to a restaurant to avoid having to throw out non-disposable plastic containers. Or be charged extra to request them, like the straws.
Better still. Let’s fine every single person who leaves a restaurant with their take-out in a plastic bag, including fast-food drive ins. Can you imagine the amount of money the government would make just by staking out one local McDonalds?
When are we, as concerned citizens, going to take personal responsibility and voluntarily act to change without having the government force us to with laws that only serve to increase their revenue?
Apparently, not anytime soon.
Author Raven West 
His Name is Earl
Raven West ♦ December 26, 2019 ♦ Leave a comment
According to the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority, there are approximately 50,000 homeless people in and around Los Angeles living on streets, parks and freeway underpasses. This is a story about just one. He name is Earl.
About fifteen years ago when I lived in Thousand Oaks I was working as the store manager for Radio Shack located at the corner of National and Sepulveda in Los Angeles. Driving the 101 during rush hour was a nightmare, but the moment I made the right-hand transitional turn to the 405, the drive became a virtual parking lot. In order to arrive at the store in time to unlock the doors I would exit the 405 and take the alternate more scenic route over the Sepulveda pass.
That route traveled under a freeway overpass at the corner of Wilshire and Sepulveda. From my window in the mini-van I could see above all the cars that stopped at the red light which gave me a perfect view of a man who was sleeping on the cold concrete. On many mornings he’d come over to the drivers in the stopped cars and every morning I hoped that light would be green so I wouldn’t be one of them. But he was hard to ignore.
Although his clothes were dark and torn, he always had a smile on his face as he approached the drivers and politely asked for a bit of spare cash. Most just kept their windows rolled up – stared straight ahead and ignored him, but every once in a while I’d see someone hold out a few dollars. His smile would grow to a huge grin that lit up the dark underpass with the glow of gratitude. It was infectious.
One morning I was stopped in the lane closest to him and happened to have some spare cash, so I gave him a few dollars. He smiled that broad grin and, with a sparkle in his eyes he said “thank you, have a great day”. For the first time in many, many mornings, I felt like I was going to have a really great day! After that brief exchange, I started looking for him whenever I drove passed his “home” and worried a bit when he wasn’t there, which wasn’t that often.
Winter came and the weather turned especially chilly, even for California. I knew that cold concrete was going to get even colder for him to sleep. I went into the closet and pulled out a few of my husband’s sweaters he’d never worn and a spare blanket and pillow that we’d use for guests and put them in my van.
I remember it was a Friday morning, just before the weekend when I saw him, as usual walking over to the cars stopped at the light. Once the light turned green, I drove really slowly, not caring that I was pissing off the cars behind me, in order make the red light. Once I’d stopped, I motioned him to come to the car and handed him the blanket, pillow and clothes – then I asked him his name.
“My name is Earl” he said talking the items from me. He added a “thank you” along with that illustrious grin and walked away. A car next to mine rolled down their window and the passenger who saw the exchange said “You’re a very nice lady” to which I replied “His name is Earl”
For many weeks afterwards when I was stopped at the underpass, I’d wave and shout “Hi Earl – how’s it going?” and he’d come to my car and we exchanged pleasantries for the brief seconds before the light turned green.
I never thought to ask his history, or what led him to his situation. I felt it was none of my business, it was just enough to know him in the present and share a smile. When I noticed the people in a stopped car next to mine with their windows open trying to avoid looking at him, I’d say loudly “His name is Earl”. At first, they were startled, but they always smiled back. It wasn’t long after I noticed that other stopped drivers started calling out to him by name before handing him a few dollars.
Somehow knowing this man had a name transformed him from a faceless anonymous homeless individual into a real life human being.
About a year later, I was transferred to manage the Radio Shack in Thousand Oaks. On my last day driving the route, I made sure the light was red so I could stop and Earl came over. I told him this was the last time I’d be seeing him because I wasn’t going to be working in Los Angeles anymore.
His eyes filled with a bit of sadness and a touch of worry and then, with true sincerity in his voice said: “Are you going to be all right?”
I was stunned. Here was a man with no home – sleeping under an overpass in disheveled clothing – asking strangers for a few dollars and He was worried about ME? I was overcome with a feeling of a connection to humanity I’d never felt before. Materialistically, I had everything, Earl had nothing, but in that one exchange he had given me something that no amount of money could buy.
I’ve driven the Sepulveda pass a few times in the past fifteen years but of course, Earl is no longer there. I often wonder whatever happened to him. I hope he found a permanent home someplace safe, warm and just as caring as he deserved.
I’d like to say this experience had somehow changed my response to seeing a person holding up a sign stopping traffic at the end of a freeway off ramp but I’m sad to admit, this has not been the case. There are just too many of them. These nameless, faceless unknown individuals come and go, and I just drive by.
Perhaps one day a man, or a woman in need will be holding up sign that reads “My Name is…” and that will make a difference the next time I’m stopped at a red light.
But it won’t be Earl.
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