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.