Go to Hell Early-to-Mid Twentieth Century Construction

There is a war coming, and it's time to pick sides.

As documented here in a previous post, the number of Fat Guy Coalition members is on the rise. And, contrary to what popular media would like you to believe, it's a good thing. I still believe it's a evolutionary advancement and can't be dissuaded.

While the American citizen is evolving, we are stuck trying to survive in the same country our grandparents and great grandparents built for themselves 50 to 100 years ago. My grandparents, and others of their generation, are little, tiny people.

The fact is, our forefathers were all 5' 5" and weighed 140 to 160 pounds. That, obviously, does not sound like Fat Guy Coalition measurements.

My brother used to live in an apartment constructed in the 1930's. It felt more like wearing a big jacket than hanging out in a family residence. I took two steps and went through three rooms. Needless to say, visiting was a physically uncomfortable experience.

My solution to the problem is simple: Destroy everything built prior to 1980 and replace it with structures made for someone build more like us. I'm not saying everything has to be built so the World's Fattest Man is comfortable. Let's just say James Gandolfini at Tony Soprano's most jiggly.

That brings us to the aforementioned war. You are either with the FGC or against us. And our toughest adversary will be the "historical" crowd.

These are the people who believe that something old is somehow special. I'm here to tell you, surviving doesn't make you special. There should be no reward for not falling down. Don't question this.

The toughest part for me will be the loss of Dodger Stadium.

I have an unhealthy love for that meld of cement and steel. I have romanticized my memories from that institution so much so that I have no idea whether much of it is true.

I'm always in awe from the moment I drive through the entrance until I flop down into my seat.

That is when all those beautiful feelings are replaced with the stark realization that I am now wedged into this sickeningly small seat for the next three hours.

It is then I remember this place was built for men much more svelte than I, or any FGC member for that matter. The experience is inevitably lessened by the tight confines, and all I can think is how much better this game would be with just an extra three inches to each side.

I don't ask much in this world. I truly don't. But for the love of God, please tear down that monument to abnormally small asses and allow a temple for the fat guy to rise in it's place.

After that, we can turn our sights on our next enemy: 1950's tract housing.

I (heart) pie.

Fat Guy Report on Twitter

Don't know why anyone would care, but the Fat Guy Report can now be found at www.twitter.com/fatguyreport.

You will basically know what's on my belly's mind at all times. 

You've been warned.

I (heart) pie.

Snack Break

The word "brilliant" had to come about to describe the individuals who decided to put two delicious — yet unrelated foods — together in the same dish.

The first person to put bacon on a cheeseburger was brilliant. So, too, was the human being who initially paired pastries with fresh fruit.

My friend Lizzy is brilliant.

In nearly 26 years of life, I had never once thought of replacing the milk in my cereal with ice cream. However, after our short conversation today, I don't think I'll ever again pour milk into a bowl.

After spending less than a minute in deep thought, I have already decided nothing would taste better than Coco Pebbles covering mint chocolate chip. Except, maybe, Froot Loops on top of vanilla.

Her two suggestions were a blend of Cap'n Crunch and Cookie Crisp with vanilla ice cream, as well as Fruity Pebbles with a coconut sorbet. Both equally as awesome.

Well, now I put the pressure on the Fat Guy Coalition to come up with a more delectable concoction. 

Be creative. I'm expecting even more brilliance from you.

I (heart) pie. 

The Ultimate Fat Guy Workout

I understand putting together the words "fat guy" and "workout" in a post title is somewhat of an oxymoron, but I swear this has a point. Well, it has about as much of a point as anything you'll find on this site.

I came up with this idea a few months ago when I found myself stuck at the mechanic with my truck up on the lift for at least an hour. I had nothing planned and no one around to stop by and help kill the time.

Unable to simply sit in the waiting room — which had no television and only car magazines — I was forced to explore an unfamiliar town on foot.

Since the road was slated to the west, westward was where I headed. After about 15 minutes, I happened upon a small strip mall occupied with a liquor store, cigar shop, deli, and a doughnut shop.

As you would expect, the doughnut shop's lovely neon blue and red sign called to me like ... uh ... like a doughnut shop would call to a fat dude forced to walk around for no damn reason.

Anyway, feeling pretty proud of myself for "exercising" for the past quarter hour, I was convinced I needed to be rewarded. The prize: a dozen glazed doughnut holes.

Why doughnut holes you ask, well, here's a little back story.

About a year ago I found out the hard way that we, as Americans, have too much freedom. Namely, when I head into a doughnut shop for a couple of regular chocolate sprinkles, I noticed a whole dozen only cost $6. And no one man should be able to purchase 12 doughnuts without proof they will be shared.

It's the same reason you can only get two beers when you head to the ballpark.

Well, that's a deal too good to pass up. Those dozen, regular-sized doughnuts were my sole source of sustenance for that day. Let's just say the next day did not go well. It was when I came up with the theory of the "food hangover." But that's for another post.

OK, let's get back to "Ultimate Fat Guy Workout."

A dozen doughnut holes is just the right amount of doughnut for me, as well as the rest of humanity for that matter. The holes were definitely a most wonderful reward for my short journey.

Then, after a short conversation with the shop's owner, as well as a forgettable interview on the Today Show, I headed back to pick up my truck.

As you may recall, I headed west in the first place because the road slid downhill. I often have this problem. I head the easy way, not realizing I will just have to head back uphill to return to my original destination. I reluctantly accept responsibility for my ignorance.

While sluggishly carrying my mass up the incline — resembling a slow moving sheet of ice in the Arctic — I realized I had accidently stumbled upon the perfect workout for me and my people.

Think about it. I got a good 30 minute workout, which most nutrition folk would agree is a proper amount of time to maintain a healthy lifestyle. But I also got to indulge in the glory that is fried dough sloppily smothered in liquified sugar. Which is just the thing those same folks would say help maintain an unhealthy lifestyle.

I get to feel good in two, distinct ways. I am staying healthy, while at the same time, satisfying my belly beast. 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call killing two birds with one stone.

I (heart) pie.

Mount Rushmore of Food or: Thank the Lord for Chadwick for Giving Me an Idea When I Was Mentally Tapped Out

I understand I am woefully under qualified to speak about the greatest eating experiences in this country. I have only lived in a select few areas in my short time on this Earth, but I think I can come up with four quality restaurants to be immortalized on the Fat Guy Report's Mount Rushmore. 

I decided to choose chain restaurants for this purpose. Later, we'll delve into more individualized eateries.

McDonald's

Now, I can hear most people I know hemming and hawing about this first selection. Whenever you discuss the best fast food restaurants, someone always chimes in with the classic anti-McDonald's diatribe you hear far too often.

You know what? I can guarantee you that same person not only has eaten at McDonald's since making that statement, but they enjoyed their meal.

Numbers don't lie. The Golden Arches are the standard-bearers of fast food. Period. They have the best french fries, best desserts, and, yes, even the best burgers. These are facts.

People will argue with this selection, but there is no arguing with sales numbers.

Favorite meal: Two cheeseburger meal, fries, Coke, and three chocolate chip cookies.

Red Robin

There has to be a place on this mount for the family restaurant. Places like Chili's, T.G.I. Fridays, or The Olive Garden have a foothold on the American public. They are some of the most profitable enterprises in this country, and none serve up better grub than Red Robin.

The burgers are the best. So are the onion rings. But the best of the best this franchise has to offer are the steak fries.

The fact they are a bottomless basket, moves them right to the center of the fat guy's soul.

Favorite meal: Whiskey River burger, bottomless fries and a beer.

Tilted Kilt

I had no idea this was a chain when I first entered its hallowed walls in Las Vegas. And I don't care. The Tilted Kilt is the greatest pub experience I have ever had.

The Celtic-themed restaurant/bar offers a wonderful array of tap beers, liquor, and good ol' fashion bar food. But, as evidenced in the photo, the Tilted Kilt offers far more than just booze and grub.

Favorite Meal: Killian's Irish Red and whatever these professional staff members feel like serving.

Smith & Wollensky

This is, by far, the greatest eating experience I have ever had at a chain. It's a high-class, high-priced establishment. So, obviously, I have only ate their once. However, I have never enjoyed a meal more.

Between the atmosphere, diverse bread basket, and quality cuts of meat, there are no holes in this selection. In fact, much like George Washington on the actual Mount Rushmore, you cannot celebrate the history of chain restaurants without Smith & Wollensky.

Favorite meal: Veal Shank, mashed potatoes, bread, veggies, and a glass (or ten) of red wine.

I (heart) pie.

Childhood Obesity: National Pandemic or Evolutionary Progress

Stay with me on this one because you might not get what I'm saying on the first attempt. In fact, you should read it twice, then send a link to two friends who have never read the Fat Guy Report and get their opinions. I know this sounds like a cheap trick to bump my numbers, but I swear it's not. I just think this is something that needs to be discussed.

(Editor's note: This is a cheap trick to bump my numbers.)

Eventually, every local news station or hack scientist finds a lull in time and devotes their resources to the "crisis" that is childhood obesity. I'm not saying that being a FFG (Future Fat Guy) doesn't have some negative health consequences, but you really only see these kind of reports on slow news days or from increasingly outdated research centers.

Well, that was the case a few days ago when I happened upon the local news here in Los Angeles. At first, it just brings back a flood of personal memories of myself as a FFG. A most upsetting time if I don't say so.

Anyways, I got to thinking while watching a seemingly endless progression of chubby children flashing on the screen. "You know what?" I contemplated aloud. "These kids have it a lot easier than I did."

It's true. As I was growing into my own in the early 1990s, I can only remember one, maybe two other fat kids in my class of 30 students. Now, if you believe the statistics, there's enough fat kids in each class in America to make up a little FFG crew.

As I have well noted in this forum, the fat guy crew is the greatest part of being a fat guy. It took me until high school, and really college, to find my place in a quality fat guy crew. Today, these kids get to share that experience at a much younger age.

The key to a fat guy crew is learning to feel empowered by your size, rather than the shame often levied on the rotund by the svelte masses.

Not to restate the painfully obvious fact the Fat Guy Report was founded on, but being a fat guy is something to celebrate. The problem for most of my brethren in the Fat Guy Coalition is that we didn't understand that lesson until much later on in our lives.

Now, with the growing abundance of FFGs in the country, this is a realization most of our little brothers will come to much earlier.

And that means a nation of confident fat guys from sea to shinning sea.

I understand that it is very unlikely to happen in my lifetime, but I believe we are at the dawn of an evolutionary shift — one where life will begin rewarding its above-average-sized residents.

Think of it this way: If you have a forest full of bears all relatively the same size, and then introduce a family who average 100 pounds heavier than the status quo, wouldn't that family immediately become the alpha members of their species? Of course.

However, in our world, the same does not hold. That is all going to change.

Eventually, the largest young men on the playground will no longer have to put up with the verbal barrage of spite we had to endure as children. One day, the biggest will be the baddest.

That's progress. That's innovation. 

That sounds like a damn great place to live.

(Editor's note: Don't forget to send to two friends. Also, if I die, I want this post written on my tombstone. And while we're here, let me extend a belated welcome to Johnnie Boy and his beautiful better half who have been a part of the FGC since the beginning. While no longer big enough to be Big John, he and Jaime's love and support will always be an ingredient to the FGR's foundation. I'm eternally thankful.)

I (heart) pie.

Yeah, I Get It, Doc. But What About The ...

Rich people often divide themselves into two, distinct categories — old money and new money — to differentiate between those who have family money and those who made their own riches. Even though the Fat Guy Report is a welcoming environment for all in the coalition, we have a similar division amongst our quarters.

We have the separation of the old fat and the new fat.

It comes down to your childhood. I was a fat kid and had to deal with all the slings and arrows that accompany such a youth. By the time I was in my late teens, I was comfortable with growing up into a fat man. On the other hand, new fat is the fat guy who didn't start to properly fill out his form until at least his late teens or twenties.

It is important to know the difference in order to understand just how awfully embarrassing and infuriating it is to go to the doctor as a fat guy. Those on the new fat side of the line may have noticed this over the years, but as a member of the old fat clan, you don't see the difference unless you go with someone else to the doctor.

What you don't know unless you're one of us is that doctors never actually care what it is we have when we walk through those doors. He or she is only concerned with our weight. 

I go in with a bad flu (or any physical ailment for that matter), I have to sit through a 20 minute speech about how I need to change my diet and exercise more vigorously.

Here's the thing I never understood about that damn speech. I know I'm fat and understand the best way to lose pounds. It's not a surprise. Even if I had some historic sense self delusion, I figured out I'm a fat guy when I had to stop buying clothes off the rack at the mall or when that same disgusted look I've seen countless times crawl across a women's face at a bar. 

The speech is just unnecessary.

But here's the really weird thing. I thought this was what almost everyone had to deal with at the doctors. Not the fat guy speech, of course, but I figured doctors simply found a fault with everyone who came into their examination rooms. 

I'm not sure what the doctor would choose outside of weight, but I imagined everyone had to sit through some needless speech for one thing or another. That was until I accompanied a friend to the doctor.

It was a truly eye-opening experience. The doctor came in, said a few obligatory words of welcome, then asked what was wrong. After being told of the problem, the doctor simply explained what was going on and wrote a prescription. Done and done.

Everyone of us old fat members reads that last paragraph with a blending sense of wonder and hostility, for we have had such a welcoming experience.

I once had a trip to the doctor that went almost as smoothly, but that was only because I was adamant to avoid the speech and simply turn the conversation back to my inflamed throat. It worked most of the time, but then you always get the last bit of humility while walking out the door.

It may be a mention about diet, or even a damn pamphlet. This time it was a "suggestion" to stop by the health and nutrition building on my college campus.

Yeah, Doc. Will do. Right after I pick up the antibiotics to fix what's actually wrong with me.

I (heart) pie.

Back After A Break With Some Good News

While I had promised to never take off such a stretch of time again, these last few weeks haven't been the easiest for me. And though I'd love to dig into the details with my fellow Fat Guy Coalition brethren, I think it's best we get back to work.

Once I had realized it had been a week and a half since I had last posted (which has now turned into three weeks), I felt I had to come back with something special. I've spent the past few days mulling over the possible ideas and figured out a plan.

I'm going to begin a grassroots campaign for Coco's Restaurant.

Now, I understand this isn't anything Earth shattering, but I feel like all FGC needs to know about Coco's. 

In an earlier (and one of my favorite) posts, I recalled the tale of the San Jose Denny's Crew. So, you know I have a soft spot for the Big D. However, after eating underneath that beautiful buzzing purple light, it'll be a cold day in hell when I choose a Denny's over my new love.

It's a basic story to tell: Same prices. Much, much better food.

I can't even explain in full detail how wonderful this place is except to say I never once felt sick — a common Denny's occurrence. You get real potatoes with your breakfast, and can have this delicious two mini burgers with a Caesar salad meal. 

For something that cheap, you expect it to taste, well, tasteless. If that makes sense. But that isn't the case at Coco's. 

I could go on, but I think the point has been made. However, I would have to give up my seat at the head of the table at the Fat Guy Report if I didn't mention the three greatest words ever conjured up in the English language ... 

FRESHLY BAKED PIES!

That's right. I had to go all caps on that one. You really can't hold that against me because, as you all know by now ...

I (heart) pie.

We're Starting a Fat Guy Revolution

Look at those numbers my brothers. We're up to eight in the Fat Guy Coalition and there's no sign of slowing down.

I'd like to welcome Big Nate, Little Nate, and Chadwick to the FGC. There's another new member, but I have no idea who it is. No matter. I'd like to welcome you to our world you crazy (possibly illiterate) new brother.

For those of you who have joined, or for those who plan, the Big E and I have come up with a little thing we're trying to get started. For our I.D. pictures, we're choosing one of our favorite fat guys of all time. I have Fred Flinstone (my first hero), and the Big E chose Stanley form The Office (his latest hero).

If you'd like to join us by selecting your own fat guy, we do encourage that sort of thing.

Also, send in your ideas for a post and one of us will jump on it as soon as possible. Either leave it in a comment or just email us at fatguyreport@gmail.com.

This is just a short post thanking all of you for keeping me going. I love to hear from all of you, whether it be by comment, text or email. As long as you're still around, I'll keep this thing going.

I (heart) pie.

The Fascist Double Standard of the Upchucking Fat Guy

When the Big Country and I met up back at the former homestead a few days ago, more than a few of the old stories came crashing back in my mind. For those who know us both, the fact that the majority of those old tales involved the third member of our friendship — beer — is no surprise.

In our day, Big Country and I spent a lot of time together, not much of it was sober and/or productive. However, it was one hell of a party. There was one memory I always recall when thinking of that big, rosy-cheeked bastard. It also reminds me of why fat guys must follow their own set of rules while drinking.

It was opening day of the 2005 Major League Baseball season, and the San Francisco Giants were kicking things off at the San Diego Padres' new stadium, Petco Park. 

(Here's a few things you need to know about this game: The Giants' Jason Schmidt and San Diego's Jake Peavy were two of the best pitchers in the game. The team's offenses were horrid. And Petco is definitely a pitcher's ballpark. Add it up and it equals one quick game.)

The Big Country and I decided it was the time to break out what has now been infamously dubbed as "The-18-Beers-in-18-Half-Innings Debacle." The premiss is easy enough: Drink a beer for every half inning of a baseball game.

This was easily the worst drinking idea I have ever made. And I've made some bad ones.

Anyway, by the seventh inning I was beyond hammered. I entered rare air that afternoon (Oh yeah, it wasn't even 5 p.m. when we started). One of the final things I remember from that day was heaving violently in a filthy bathroom, but decided to finish off my spew session with one final yak in front of a number of people.

The looks I received were fit for only the worst of God's monsters. Really horrid stuff. I got what was so disgusting, but it's not like I beat one cat to death with another, bigger cat.

Here's my delusional point: I have seen many of you "normies" out there vomit in public, but I have never seen anyone get a look like I got that evening. It is often seen as a simple comedic foible for a regular person, but not for a fat guy.

Apparently, there's nothing more stomach turning than to watch a big barrel of a man heaving all over the floor. Which leads us to the real point of this post:

We, as members of the Fat Guy Coalition, must live with our own set of drinking rules.

Now that I think of it, the fat guy drinking rule book is a subject far too grand for just one post on the Fat Guy Report. But I like this start.

The point is simple: The boozing fat guy must understand there is nothing more unattractive than one of us stumbling around, slurring our words, and relieving ourselves in one gigantic belly blast in front of outsiders. 

You have to be twice the man of the regular drinking guy when you really are TWICE the man of a regular guy. That's Rule No. 1.

I (heart) pie.

The Godfather of the FGR Introduces the World to the SHED Theory

I've mentioned how one of the greatest things about being a fat guy is that every now and then you can become part of a fat guy crew. Well, one of the best crews I've ever been associated with is headed by the man known here as our Godfather — Bail $$$.

If there has ever been a fat guy that made fat guys the coolest men in the room, it's this lovable fat bastard. Anyway, after getting to spend some time with him out on the town this past weekend, I felt it only fitting to pass along what might be the single most impressive fat guy theory ever hatched.

You must first understand the four-headed monster that gave birth to this mind baby. You have Bail $$$ and his father — who will always be known in this forum as the man who bore Bail $$$. They were joined by two of the biggest, loudest, drinkingest, swearingest, kick-the-hell-out-of-anything-that-moves-just-because-there-was-nothing-better-to-do-est fat guys roaming God's green Earth: Billy Bob and Sac State Lane.

These men not only terrified every father in Northern California at some time during the past 50 years, but they also have the insane ability to mentally connect into the fat guy equivalent of Voltron. That is what happened on one particular night. That is why we have the SHED Theory.

Now, Blogger has a few vulgarity rules I like to follow, but I think every member of the Fat Guy Coalition will get what I'm talking about.

Imagine yourself driving down a stretch of road in any American suburb. It is, no doubt, blue collar. The front and back yards are big, and the men in these homes take pride when they wake up early on a Saturday morning to cut their own lawns.

The first house you drive by has a small, plastic tool shed in the back. It is obviously cheap. It lacks any fortitude, but tries to look nice to fool a prospective buyer. Inside, well, as you would expect, is a tiny, unsatisfying push mower. It takes a lot just to get the smallest of jobs completed.

The next yard has a little bigger structure peaking it's flimsy aluminum roof out from above the fence. It's a little more massive than his neighbor's plastic shed, but it is still crudely manufactured. There was no time spent on this backyard embarrassment, as you can see from the missing wooden slats. He mows his lawn with a gas-powered machine. However, it is quite rusty and always has trouble starting.

Now, as for the third man ... what can I say? He has a towering, beautiful structure in his yard. It is hand built and massive. The sides have been constructed with care and artistry. It has big barn doors and even windows. It is hand painted and the roof looks better than the one he has on his own home. Within this gigantic structure is a top-of-the-line riding lawn mower. Cutting the grass on this mechanical marvel is more relaxing than a beach vacation.

You see. This man has the most magnificent tool in the neighborhood. And when you have the best tool around, you have to build a strong, but more importantly, large dwelling for it.

The point of the SHED Theory is — whether it is a man or a lawnmower — a bigger shed houses a bigger (and better) piece of equipment.

I (heart) pie.

Pop Culture's Greatest Fat Guy

Much like the Over/Under Waistline debate, Pop Culture's Greatest Fat Guy will become a running debate each guest will have to weigh in on when they stop by the Fat Guy Report. For me, this was no easy task. The Godfather, Homer Simpson, Fred Flinstone, and Minnesota Fats were all possibilities. 

However my final selection seemed to be staring me in the face from the very beginning. When I was a young fat guy — a fat guy in training if you will — there was one character on one of my father's favorite shows that always made me feel better about the giant man I was to become.

Norm Peterson from Cheers.

Now, it's a dated reference I know. There are plenty of fat guys I could have selected who are more developed in our collective conscious, but no fat guy has ever been revered in my household like Norm.

There was something splendid about a man being welcomed by an illustrious roar whenever he entered a room. (Remember when this show was on. I was very young and didn't really get the concept of a bar. It was just a place all his friends were at all the time.)

The shout of "NORM!" which rang through the grandiose tavern every time that perfectly shaped fat guy waltzed through the door made me comfortable in my own increasingly lose-fitting skin.

Looking back on those moment all these years later, it was probably the first instance of me being alright with me. Once I was in high school, and especially in college, I was able to surround myself with people who no longer used fat jokes as elementary slights, but as innocent gestures amongst friends.

Well, as a tiny little round ball, fat jokes were never friendly. But I saw the self-deprecating humor of Norm. He was having fun with his weight and his shape.

He was truly the ideal fat guy. He was big, and in no way could hide that fact. Instead of feeling down, he just made jokes and never let anyone get the better of him. As I watched the show on reruns later in life, he also made fun of his job, wife and the fact he was, by all accounts, an unabashed alcoholic. 

In many ways he was just a normal guy. Yes, he was a fat guy, but he faced more troubles associated with men of any size and was undeterred in his own pursuits. He was — and in many ways still is — a model for what a fat guy should be.

He was nothing much more than a regular man who happened to be a fat guy. He loved being a fat guy and would never think of being anything different. 

His ideals are the same as the cornerstones of the Fat Guy Report. As we are a place where fat guys can be who we are, Norm was unapologetic in his own life.

He truly was a fat guy for the ages.

I (heart) pie.

Fat Guy Coalition Numbers Reach Record High!

Well, I don't care if it's just four of us. That's still a record for the Fat Guy Report.

I'd like to welcome two more members to the FGC — Big Matt and the Big E. The Big E has also finally joined me here on the staff of the Fat Guy Report. He may be a few months late, but you, our giggling brethren, will soon get to peer into the mind of the other founding father of this forum.

My rules from the last post still apply. And while the Big E will get many chances to broach whatever subjects he chooses to pontificate upon, Big Matt has yet to submit his topic choice for the next post. It may not be much of a loss for those of you who know Big Matt personally, because when he does select a topic, I expect it to be explicit and/or uncomfortable. However, rules are rules. He gets his own topic once he comes up with one.

That's about it on the numbers and staff front, but I do have one fat guy issue I have wanted to get to since last week, but I don't think it really warrants its own post.

Indignity While Flying Coach

Mike Golic on ESPN Radio's Mike and Mike show mentioned this during Friday's broadcast, but it reminded me of my own experience a few years back.

While flying from San Jose, CA to Washington D.C. in the Spring of 2005, I was given the dreaded middle seat on the first leg of my flight. There isn't a fat guy alive who has ever enjoyed flying in the middle seat on any airplane, let alone one from a cramped, cheap, coach-only airline.

If you've ever watched any animal documentary, there is always a segment devoted to the subjects "natural enemy." Well, for the fat guy, our "natural enemy" is the middle seat on an airplane.

It is an experience that pulls together every negative aspect of being a fat guy into one horrendous occasion. First, you have unbearable position of sitting in a seat a few sizes too small, while at the same time having your personal space invaded on both sides. This isn't even fun for little children, let alone 325 pounds of sweating meat.

The second, and really the most egregious punishment involved in this whole situation, is that every pair of passengers with an empty seat between them is looking at you in utter disgust the moment you step into the isle. You have just become those people's greatest nightmare. The thought of your fat carcass crammed into the chair right next to them has every one of those skinny freaks praying to any number of gods in the hope you will calmly walk past.

If you ever want to feel bad about yourself, by all means, purchase a coach ticket and just look at the terrified faces of the normal people sitting so comfortably in their seats. I would have been more at ease walking into my own execution than I was after passing the first few rows on that flight.

What was great was that I was looking down the side I was going to sit in and noticed about halfway up there were two other fat guys sitting next to each other with an open seat in between them. I knew, for the shear sake of comedy, that that was going to be my seat.

It was. And when I turned to sit I looked both of those fat guys in the eye. They turned and looked at each other, then back to me.

We just started laughing.

I (heart) pie.

Join the Fat Guy Coalition And Get Your Own Post

There it is. That's the deal. I notice a new individual following the Fat Guy Report and he gets to chose the next post topic.

As you can see in the sidebar to the right, my old friend Bail $$$ has become the beta member of our Coalition. And while he didn't exactly say he wanted to discuss the Hawaiian shirt craze amongst fat guys, he did send this email along earlier today ...

"Don't hate on the Hawaiian shirt. The advantage is we are on the small side of the true Hawaiian/Islanders who wear them. Like when I kick it with the Samoan (police) officer; he's the runt of the village, and I'm not the smallest, but I'm not the biggest as well."

Now, it may not be the most eloquent retort, but we can all see his point. Sort of. 

(Editor's note: I'm not too sure what my aim was with the next few hundred words, but I swear I had a good idea when I started. I ended up changing my position a few times on the Hawaiian shirt issue mid-post. My mind got away from me for second. It happens. So, get ready to read a passionate response that makes little to no sense.)

At 5'10" and about three bills, I know there are plenty of Islanders that are bigger than me. However, my point is a Hawaiian shirt on a fat guy is just stereotypical. Like a Mexican in a poncho or an Irishman dolled up like a leprechaun, it's more of a joke than an actual fashion choice.

Now, as I said in the "On the Menu" post from last week, I love Hawaiian shirts. I would truly wear one everyday. And you know why? They're damn comfortable and I like vibrant colors. Sue me.

I admire the fat guy in the Hawaiian shirt. I wish I could be that secure in my fatguyness (new word). However, this would not be as wonderful of a read if I were a self-confident fat guy. My neurotic tendencies make this a more interesting forum. And one of the things that makes me especially self-conscious is what I am wearing.

I am constantly paralyzed by how people view me, even though I often relish being a fat guy. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt magnifies that worry and makes me really uncomfortable, which contradicts my first reason for loving Hawaiian shirts (see Editor's note above). I'm comfortable on the outside, but my inner insanity makes me unable to enjoy that feeling.

My head hurts. I think I'm going to stop here. Maybe we'll revisit this at a later time. I'll probably just have Bail $$$ write it. Nothing more to say except ...

I (heart) pie.

That Took Some Serious Balls AdSense

For those in the Fat Guy Coalition who may not know, Google AdSense is a way for those on Blogger to make a little money by putting advertisements on their blog. And I mean "little money," as in large checks for mere pennies. AdSense is supposed to find ads that relate to your specific site.

I thought this would be a great idea for the Fat Guy Report. Maybe there would be little ads for big and tall stores or restaurant coupon books or other things that interest proud fat guys like us.

But what do we here get from AdSense? Weight loss ad after weight loss ad piled one on top of the other. You believe that?

Well, I'm here to say I would never do that to you, my fellow Fat Guy Coalition brethren. The Fat Guy Report is here so we have a place to be the fat guys we were born to be. No questions asked. This is a forum where we laugh at washboard abs and chiseled jaw bones. We know those won't keep you warm when the heat goes off one night.

This is my promise. I'm here to tell AdSense that I don't need the "Best diet plan for 2009," and neither does any Coalition member. You know that won't change, because no matter what ... 

I (heart) pie.

Waistline Battle Royal: Vol. I

As I wrote in the very first Fat Guy Report post, one of the main issues I planned to discuss on this site was at which point does a fat guy raise his waistline from below the belly to right square on his belly button.

I'll be honest with you, my fellow Fat Guy Coalition members. I have been thinking about this one idea for months, and have yet to come up with a quality position on this topic. However, since there are only about 15 people reading this — 15 good friends to be exact — I'm sure I'll be forgiven for missing a point here or there.

Also, as you have noticed, this is just Vol. I. Many members of the Coalition will be throwing in their two cents at some future point.

Here's my take. I have been wearing my waistline below the belly for 25 years now, and have no plans to change. The only time I have really made a go at the migration north did not work out well. It was the suit I purchased before my first job interview after college. The tailor was indignant, and wouldn't let me leave with a comfortable pair of pants.

I took the new, high-waistline trousers to me on the interview and suffered for six hours. I felt like an old man, and was obsessed by the very visible roll of fat throbbing from below my belt. After a few hours, I just lowered the waistline, tightened the black strip of leather woven between the loops, and went around walking on the cuffs of my now-incredibly long pant legs.

It was embarrassing, but I got the job. That bundle of dark blue cloth stuffed in the bottom of the hamper became my lucky suit. Once it returned from the cleaners, we both made a visit back to the same, indignant tailor.

I now have a suit that fits me as well as anything I have ever owned, and a happy fat guy belly hanging out in all its glory.

Now, I don't see this as a fashion issue, in the sense I don't believe a man looks better with either the lower or higher waistline. This is simply a comfort issue. What is interesting to someone like me is how a fat guy could feel good with the over waistline. My good friend and mentor, Bail $$$, made the transition years ago. He swears by the high belt line, but he knows where I'm coming from. He too remembers when it seemed weird to wear his pants like he now does. But after doing it for so long, he can't think of going back. 

There's what I love about this discussion. Every fat guy has worn his pants with the waistline under his jiggle drum, but you can't really experience the over-the-belly belt line until you make the move for good.

In a way, it's like those fat guys who have made the transition are a member of some evolutionary species of (fat) man. They have moved on to some greater form of fat guy than I. 

In the future, the Fat Guy Report will have various guest authors make an appearance, with the only condition being they must first write their response to his issue. The Over/Under Waistline Discussion will be this site's signature topic.

Let's see if this is a good idea — or makes sense at all — in a few months. Until then, I feel pretty good about this one.

I (heart) pie.

Fat AIDS

It is the feeling many of us — ah, who am I kidding, all of us — have experienced. It is more than just the feeling of being too full. It is more than just the realization that we have stuffed our gullets beyond what God had intended. No, this is the point of no return. It is when eating has caused you physical pain.

I guess any one can experience it, but as a fat guy, it just makes sense that we experience it far more often than the average human. But to fully understand this feeling, we must go through the "Progression of Fullness."

First, there is "unfulfilled." This is when you get one hot dog because time is short. However, three would be have been suffice. You're still hungry and, more importantly, you're just upset.

Second, is "full." It is the feeling you get a few minutes after you have stopped eating before being satisfied. It takes self control to reach this stage. For that reason, it's plain to see why I have not often experienced such a state.

Third, is technically termed "stuffed." More commonly, it is the stage where you pull back from your plate and utter some phrase including the words "too much." You have ate until you feel full, which means you have over done it. This is the way I have felt for approximately 68 percent of my adult life.

Fourth, let's call it, "Oh, God. I think I'm dying." This stage needs little explanation.

Finally, comes the aforementioned period when eating has caused pain. This is, to the best of my knowledge, your body beginning to attack itself as punishment for your gluttony. The clinical diagnosis is "Fat AIDS."

Now, I'd love to take full credit for this idea, but, I cannot. It came about from a dialogue with the Big E about a month ago. When I described the feeling I had in my stomach as my body combating itself, he responded with the now classic, "Like AIDS?"

What followed was the introduction of Fat AIDS into our personal lexicon.

Now it belongs to the entire Fat Guy Coalition.

I (heart) pie.

Edmundo: Patron Saint of the Denny's Crew

There really is no better part to being a fat guy than having your own fat guy posse. For me, the best fat guy collection I have ever been part of was the Denny's Crew of San Jose. 

I was joined by the Big E, the Big Worm, and Big Nate (I think we were just lazy in the nickname department). And unlike most fat guy crews, we had three little guys in on the fun: Chadwick, D Young and Yowbert. They weren't fat guys, but they could eat like us. That was good enough. The four true fat guys were our own set known as the 250-plus club. 

There were two simultaneous events that took us from being a group of young men who ate at Denny's often to the aforementioned Denny's Crew. The first was a promotional giveaway held by the restaurant where you were given a hole-punch cards to tally the number of meals you've had at Denny's. The deal was after five meals you received a sixth free. We referred to it as the "frequent eaters" card. 

The second event was the introduction of Edmundo the waiter. 

Now this may turn into a gigantic "man-love" letter for a man who is simply the greatest service employee of all time, so stay with me. Since our group headed out to Denny's about once a week before the frequent eaters cards were introduced, you could imagine how often we were now at Denny's with the promise of a free meal on the table. We usually didn't get there until after midnight, and there were only a few waiters and waitresses who worked the late shift. We were usually sat in one of the big booths, and that's where we met Edmundo.

Edmundo remembered us the second time we walked in, and by the fourth night of our new friendship, he knew our orders by heart. No joke. He would greet us with that magnificent smile of his, sit us down, keep the menus in hand, then recite our individual requests like he was born to do it.

"Bacon cheeseburger, plain. Side of fries and a Cherry Coke." My drunken eyes began to water once those beautiful words came firing out from behind that man's slightly yellow teeth.

The same could be said for the rest of the Denny's Crew. Especially the Big Worm, whose order deserves its own posting. I can't remember the exact order, but "Boca burger with bacon" was prominently involved. I mean, to hear Edmundo ramble off that ridiculous  phrase became one of the many reasons I mourned quietly when the Big Worm moved out of town.

It should be noted, the frequent eaters card lasted only a month. While every member of the Denny's Crew completed his original card, Big Nate put the rest of our coalition to shame by finishing two and starting a third. Often, one or two of our members couldn't make it on any given excursion, but I don't think Big Nate ever missed a trip.

The day any of us were able to use our free meal was huge day for the group. Like a certain, destructive graduation. It was usually used after a night of drinking. Mine was no exception.

I had finished a case of Coronitos (that's 24 seven-ounce Coronas) and was feeling pretty good. I demanded a Denny's Crew summit at our headquarters and when Edmundo sauntered over to our table, I was beaming. Once he repeated my usual order, I raised a single finger in the air to catch Edmundo's attention. 

"And," I proudly stammered, "a short stack of pancakes."

The rest of the Denny's Crew rightfully laughed, but not Edmundo. Like a professional, he acted like he'd been there before. The man simply curled the corners of his mouth, scratched down the new side order in his order book, and went on with his work. I'll always remember and admire that about Edmundo.

I will also remember cradling the porcelain later that night, realizing the pancakes were just one of several mistakes I made that evening.

I (heart) pie.

Seth Rogen is Not a Fat Guy

Seth Rogen is hilarious. Seth Rogen makes very good movies. Seth Rogen is not a thin man.

However, Seth Rogen is definitely not a fat guy.

This isn't an attack on the man. In fact, most people would think it's a positive thing to be not fat. But the real problem is that so often in his films we are told he is a fat guy. We are supposed to laugh at this "fat guy" while he does fat guy things. The problem is he's just a guy who's not in good shape, so automatically he is put into the "fat guy" category. Well, as a fat guy, it's just not fair.

If Hollywood wants a fat guy, go get Kevin James. That's a legitimate fat guy right there.

The other side of that coin is the actor who used to be in shape, but now is clearly carrying around a few extra pounds. I think Alec Baldwin is a comedic genius on 30 Rock, but don't tell me he can get any women he wants even though he has the same body as a retired NFL linebacker. He's not quite a fat guy, but he obviously isn't shooting any running-on-the-beach-shirtless scenes anytime soon.

What we need is a name for this Seth Rogen gray area. We have the handsome-leading-actor-Brad-Pitt-Leonardo-DiCaprio category. And we have the jiggling-gut-man-boobs-Chris-Farley-Homer-Simpson category.

Where is the happy, lazy medium between these two?

The answer is quite simple. We have to go back to the days when words actually meant something. At some point the term "out of shape" became synonymous with "fat." Just like the terms "hot," "beautiful," and "cute" mean wildly different things when describing a women, there is a big leap between "out of shape" and "fat."

The issue is that "out of shape" is just too wordy for a simple description. There has to be some one or two syllable term we can use. My suggestion: flabby. Definition: Not thin, but still buy clothes off the rack in the same kind of store where they have paintings of smiling, blonde, half-naked people on the beach.

Seth Rogen is flabby. Alec Baldwin is flabby. Flabby is not fat. Fat is not flabby. Now that we have that cleared up, I feel a lot better.

I (heart) pie.

What's on the Menu?

Here are some upcoming discussions for this ground-breaking site.

— Is it reasonable to believe that women who work at a Casual Male XL clothing store are into fat guys, therefore making them the perfect women for a single fat guy to pursue?

— After all we know, why do so many fat guys still rock the horizontal stripes?

— On the same note: What's with the Hawaiian shirt love? (Which I do love, but always feel too "stereotypical fat guy" when thinking about buying one.)

— The ultimate fat guy restaurant guide.

— The first of several fat guy drinking rule books.

— The complete over/under belt line forum.

— And much, much more!

With your help, let's make the Fat Guy Report in the next big thing on the Internet.

Indignity at the Drive-Thru

Here's the situation. 

You and two friends plan to get some food, but only one is charged with the task of hitting the drive-thru. Let's say it's a burger place. One orders a couple of small burgers; an

other wants a chicken sandwich, chicken nuggets, and fries; and the last individual orders the ol' number two with a Coke. The first two decided they were either going to have water, or there's stuff to drink at the apartment. 

If this is a normal, non-fat guy, there's no problem. That individual doesn't worry what the person behind the window thinks. And most likely, the person behind the window, if they have a thought at all, will assume the customer will simply be delivering the food to a group.

Now, as a fat guy, there is a whole psychological process involved. Either your an overly self-confidant fat guy, and really don't worry about what the man or woman behind the window is thinking, or you become an apologetic wreak.

While there are plenty of self-confident fat guys in the world, I am not one of them. Most of my fat guys friends are not like them. And, in all honesty, this site is not for those fat guys.

The few minutes sitting in that line of cars becomes a harrowing situation where a fat guy feels the need to explain himself to the poor employee, who he believes is judging him from that tiny box.

You see, the self-conscious fat guy believes that the individual behind the window expects us to devour this $15 semi-feast the moment our car drives past the glass. This thought, inevitably, becomes something we feel needs to be addressed. I can't explain how many times something like this happens, and all I want to do is let out a cry explaining, "This is for three people. I swear. Don't judge me, please!"

I know it makes no sense to most, but there are many people, like the Big E, who know exactly what I'm talking about when I tell this story.

To add to the whole embarrassing situation, there is nothing worse than seeing people laugh in the kitchen when you pull up. The chances they are laughing at you is almost nil, but don't try and explain that to my kind of fat guy. There is no other reason for those employees to be laughing in our mind. Fat guy plus tons of fast food equals the highest of comedy. Nothing can make you feel worse.

And here's the reason behind all this: There was only one drink ordered. All I keep thinking at this moment is that if my friends had simply ordered a drink, then no one would assume it is all for the pathetic fat guy in the driver's seat. That's it.

I can't begin to count the number of times I have cursed some of my closest friends over the fact that their decision to save $1.50 on a drink has made me go though this indignity.

However, I am a fat guy for a reason. And sometimes there really aren't two other friends back at the apartment.

I (heart) pie.

Don't Worry My Friends

Have no fear my fellow fat guys. The Fat Guy Report is still going strong, although you may not realize it by our less than continuous updates I may have promised a few of you in 2008. And by few, I mean the half dozen or so of my friends who seem to be the only people who know about this site. Well, things are going to start changing, and the Fat Guy Report will be running strong beginning this month. So tell everyone you know, fat and non-fat alike, to get ready for a better look into the life of the large. 

I (heart) pie.