I was at the mall.
You know the mall that Chris Rock Talked about:
‘Every town got two malls, Every town got two malls, the one that white people go to… and the one white people used to go to.©™(Chris Rock)’
This was the white, honky, pasty-face, Mr. Charlie, Bobo, aka the Devil, aka Charles Manson, aka the man, whitey, El Diablo Blanco mall.
The real ‘man’ shops here like the bad guy in the Pootie Tang™ movie. Yes I went to High School in East New York Brooklyn, yes I love Chris Rock… Was I the only white guy at school? No. Was I the only white guy in my neighborhood… Yes. So I feel free to quote Chris Rock.
Well I was at the white mall and it was AWESOME! Except there was nowhere to buy clothes. I found one very hip upscale store, not for youngsters. I picked up some size 36 pants and there behind me she was. The Voat Fat People Hate Certified Shitlady! Her body was awesome.
“Hi fatty, hamplanet, Obeast you have a very nice FUFA! I heard you are now 208 pounds. 26.2 BMI, still 1.3 too high you repulsive Laardvaark. 35.75 waist? 15.25% body-fat? That spells: F-A-T-T-Y!”
I picked up the 36″x34″ jeans two pairs.
“VFPHSL! You are looking well, did you miss me?”
She grabbed me around the waist and sniffed at my chest in a very creepy, obsessive, possessive ‘girls who kill’ manner.
“I did miss you, your obesity is like the pull of the planet Neptune, my butter-golem. I’m coming into the fitting room with you because that’s what a wife, a normal woman who is married, i.e., not me, (due to a lack of adequate Shitlords) would do, i.e., that is to say, you should propose to me now you slobbering hambeast. Lord Beetus! If you weren’t filthy rich with old money, would anyone even talk to you?”
I couldn’t stop her. She even referred to me as ‘my husband’ when she followed me into the dressing room. Annabel Lee was spinning in her grave at the thought (gratuitous Poe reference). I was hoping that the Voat girl would be tormented by ghosts like the old dude was in ‘Fiddler on the Roof’©™ (gratuitous Jewish reference).
Needless to say, I had measured and re-measured my waist at the fattest point and it was 35.75, and no the size 36 jeans did not fit.
“Why don’t they fit?” I said out loud.
“Well, O.J., if it doesn’t fit, you must acquit!™ allow me to retort. BECAUSE THEY ARE SHITLORD UPSCALE JEANS THAT DON’T FIT OVER YOUR MINI-FUPA!”
“Why are you quoting Johnny Cochran?”
“Because I’m biracial, you fat Beetus-Juice drinking fuck! I can quote Cochran. I heard you muttering to yourself quoting Chris Rock. OOH I’m a New Yorker, I’m so chic! Are you blind or something? My dad is an Anglo-Saxon, Golfing CEO whitey from Ponte Vedra, Florida and my mom is a black, soul-sistah, African-Virgin-Islands-American, person of color, you fat-made-your-brain-stupid, blind idiot. You f*&ked me for god’s sake, like six times and you can’t tell I’m bi-racial?”
“Hey I don’t discriminate.”
“Listen, micro-Beetus, you f*&cked the Caribbean Queen with your racially-dysmorphic unbelievably massive love tool. Could you tell that she was slightly incredibly dark-skinned black-afro-carib? Enough of this jabber, you stupid fat! make love to me now. Right now. Right here in this dressing room! I demand it! Hey, you got a nice tan! I can see your six-pack. OH MY GOD, BOTENDADDY”
Peace be the Botendaddy