The Voat Fat People Hate Sh!tlady

She was new to the writer’s workshop. She was getting a Master’s in English Writing at St. Vincent’s. She was lean and hard-bodied. I welcomed her to the group.

“Botendaddy. I’ve heard about you. I am a noble, Voat-FPH-verified sh!tlady and I am going to sh!tlord until you get it, you skinny-fat, Obeast-Beetus, Fat-Fat-Fatty. You godd4mned Lardvaark! You fat planet. You disgusting Ham with your condishuns, your slow BMR, you reeking Heffalump! You sh!tyy Hamplanet! You Beluga!”

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The University

She was screaming at full volume. The librarian, being the strongest of the women in the group, stood up to politely address the Voat-girl. She dragged her from her chair, placed her in a vise-grip headlock and asked her to calm down in her usually pleasant manner

“Shut your f&$cking stupid ass-mouth or I will literally beat the fu@& out of you, you stupid twat! I will give you a goddamned face-period you ignorant cu7t!”

The librarian was an Air Force Officer. She could beat down a grown man.

“You hate my thin-privilege, you fat Beetus Lardvaark!” Shrieked the Voat girl.

“I swear to god, one more word out of the cesspool of your Voat-FPH, bowel-mouth and I will monkey stomp the shit out of you!” Replied the librarian, through gritted teeth.

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Ice cream anyone?

“Get off of me you godd4mned fat ham-planet! You sh7tty Obeast! You lardbeast, butter-golem! I triggered you with CI-CO! You deathfat femayo land-whale! You Heffalump. Reeee! Reeee! Hambeast! You slobbering, piggering, work-food-stealing oinker! I’m choking to death on your piss-soaked FUPA!”

Ramon, the Park Ranger and I piled on, dragging everyone to the ground. We finally separated them. The professor sighed and adjusted her spectacles.

“So I see nothing has changed with our little group.” Said the professor, resignedly.

I draped my entire body over the librarian while Ramon had the Voat-girl in a headlock.

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The road to perdition

“You’re all fat! Obeasts! Lardbeast, Tumblerina, Land Walrus, mayogender, Landconsumers! I hate your back cleavage! Hate! Hate! Eye-pollution! Ham-planets! Beetus eaters! ci-co! Deathfats! Thermodynamics! You fat hams!”

The PMWC (Punker-Model-Writer-Chick) pulled her skirt up and sat her stained, streaked, creepily moist, granny-pantied, rarely-bathed, pungent, wet ass-craque on the Voat-girl’s face until the Voat-girl gagged,  and then finally calmed down from the bowel-stain-related asphyxiation.

“I weigh 120 at 5’9″. I’m fat? Are you insane? My BMI is like zero! How does my ass taste psycho? Do you like eating dirty girly-ass?” Said the PMWC.

“Enough!” Screamed the stalker. “Since when am I the normal one? Everyone calm down. Let’s hear her out, maybe she schizophrenic and off her meds.”

Everyone took their seats.

“Look, you fat, smelly, obese, deathfat, Whalemart,  FUPA girls, I’m just saying that calorie counting is not enough! Botendaddy has like three coffees a day. It’s bad calories, pure liquid sugar. He has no willpower, he uses fat-logic!!!!”

She shrieked again, then started weeping.

“I hate you all. That stupid fat-ass librarian and that idiot punker-kid both need adult diapers because you fatties just peed and pooped on yourselves. You ugly fat-faced fatties. You gluttons. You claim I have thin privilege! You’re destroying America with your grotesque deathfat!”

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The Exit

I sought to set the record straight. Everyone was extremely lean except for me and I’m now leaner than most people over the age of 24. I stood up to pontificate.

“First of all, this room is filled with female marathon runners, plus two male bodybuilders. Other than me, no one is above 16% body fat. At any rate, even if I’m at 1,500 calories a day, the unnecessary sugar can cause an insulin spike reaction that is unhealthy? I should instead cut sugar and snack on good calories?”

The Voat-girl’s heavy mascara began to run.

“Yes, yes, yes you beached whale, you fat-logic planet,  you sh7tty Hambeast, you still need a balanced diet even at low calories or you’ll be a world-destroying, buffalo, hamplanet, Beatus-whale!”

“Please let me kill her!”

The librarian screamed as she leaped from her chair, hurling herself at the Voat-girl and pinning her face between her legs so her nostrils were being flattened by the librarian’s wet-spot, spandex, reeking, yeasty, violently smelling vajayjay malodorous cameltoe.

“Breathe deep, you stupid loud-mouthed wh%re! Smell the odor of a real woman! I’ll suffocate you with my stank pu$$y, I swear to god!”

“Get your smelly FUPA off of me you triggered-fat! No fat-logic! You have no bladder control!” Shouted the Voat-girl.

Ramon grabbed the librarian by the nostrils and the Park Ranger used pressure points from his sexy calendar-cop days to pry the librarian off.

The Voat-girl gagged from the horrific odor that was now slathered on her face from the librarian’s rank, ripe, reeking, soaking-wet vajayjay.

I thought it important to translate.

“Well, the fat-obsessed, mentally sick Voat-girl does have some good points about cutting sugar. You don’t want to sabotage your diet while you’re making good progress. Pure sugar is never good, especially in liquid form.”

We're changing our name to something.

The English Department.

The Voat-girl looked up at me.

“Botendaddy? My body is rock-hard low BMI, low body fat. I am a verified Sh!7lady! You are a skinny fat, Obeast, Hamplanet, fat-logic, whale, Triggly-puff-twin, excuse-mongering Beatus Lardvaark! You should die and save the public health from your Obeastity! F@&k your HAES!”

I tried to speak but she held her hand over my mouth.

“Better yet, f@&k me now! In front of all these hams! Fill me with your fat, slow Obeast spermatozoa! Your bad genetic material! I want it inside me! Stick your fat Hamplanet monster inside of my perfect body, if you can find it under your fat FUPA! Stop f&$king these grotesque fat, stupid, Obeast, femayo, deathfat, slutty, needy, hamplanet, ranch-dressing eating, FUPA-having, Reee-Reee piglettes! Fu@k me instead of them! They are all nauseating fats! I will save you from being a Hamplanet with my noble Sh1t-lording!!”

The stalker stood up.

“That’s it! I’m going to f@&k you up!”

The stalker screamed and lunged.

“No one shits on our writer’s workshop! This is our mother-f@&King house! No-one insults the Botendaddy except us! No one fu@&ks him except us, you psycho-tramp, I’ll beat the living sh1t out of you! I will thump you into a broken, freakishly disabled mess! I am filled with a boundless rage!”

Once again, a restraint was in order. While Ramon and I held back the stalker, the Voat-girl shit-lady ran out the door of the classroom for her life.

The PMWC looked at me.

“Botendaddy, I swear to god, if you ever put your ugly, torqued-out, gnarled gargantuan love-thing in that crazy, vicious, mean-hearted, inhuman, cruel, nut-job b7tch, I will cut your giant p3n15 off and feed it to the god-d4mned Ducks!”

“So what did we learn from this?” Asked the professor.

“Coffee?” I said.

Peace be the Botendaddy

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About Botendaddy

Three times voted extreme sexiest man alive...by acclamation. I run because I must...I must!
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