Fat Women: Stop Emailing Me

If there’s one thing I know about women it’s that whatever any one of them is doing, it can be done better by a man — and also they’re all crazy and they all want babies and they all want to get married and they all want to have everything done for them for free and they all want to fuck their fathers and every decision that they make in their lives is based on how jealous they are that they don’t have a penis and they all wear way too much perfume and they never listen to anything before they open their mouths with a response and they all need to lose 10 pounds and they never actually mean “thank you” or “I’m sorry” when they say it — what they really mean is “it’s about time” and “you should be glad I’m still letting you fuck me” — and they all love to be treated like shit because that’s what they are.

And when they get on the internet, they go from a size 8 to a size Invisible.

In other words: fat women, quit fucking emailing me. I can tell you’re fat and your fatness makes me sick.

Here’s a sample conversation between myself and a girl who is so desperate for Dick that she can’t even spell properly. Or maybe she was desperate for a three o’clock fixin of Funyuns. I can’t be sure, but rest assured this exchange is typical for dozens of other little fat girls who need to stop sending me emails every day.

Note: This entire exchange was done in seven minutes via a Blackberry.

Men are NOT immune to eating disorders. If you honestly think they are I suggest you visit your local psychiatric ward and have a look for yourself.


Only a fat girl would know that much about eating disorders. To a woman, a loose familiarity with a subject is tantamount to being a Rainman-caliber expert. I suspected that she was 300 pounds at least.

Dealing with fat women over the internet is analogous to dealing with them in real life. Who gives a shit about fat girls?

I suggest you visit a salad bar because you are too fat.


That’s hilarious! You do not know me at all or what I look like and yet you say I’m fat? Well, you must be an overweight, acne faced, isolated, computer geek who should consider suicide to benefit society. You are the reason why many 1st world countries still encounter tall poppy syndrome and the glass ceiling effect in modern work places.

You disgust me.

Maybe you should come to my next feminist meeting? I’m sure you’ll fit right in.


I’m sure I would fit right in — their vaginas.


But if you hate women so much wouldn’t you feel much more at home being inside the males you love? Keep making an arse of yourself, you’re only reiterating my points further.


When a woman calls you gay, she is challenging your sexuality for the purposes of usurping it for herself. She has become so hysterical with lust and overpowered by your massively masculine logic that she is as ripe for plucking as a big fat cherry that no one asked to their senior prom.

Got a pic?


You cannot tell me that this heated debate wouldn’t affect your opinion of me whatsoever. What makes you think males are better than females? Why are men immune to low self esteem? I’m intrigued.


And at this point, I give absolutely no fuck. I also give the little piggy no response. But just like the little pig that she is, she can’t stop from throwing herself at the attention trough.

You hate women and yet you objectify them. You are incredibly intelligent. Now whose a constant contradiction?

Again, Fat Alberta will get no response from yours truly. In all cases, this is how women should be dealt with. If you’re not getting exactly what you want to the letter and with the excitement you so desire, stop dealing with them. The only “explanation” anyone ever owed anyone was whether or not Harrison Ford was a robot in Blade Runner — and what the fuck happened to Tony Soprano? Did he get shot or what? And no one ever got that explanation.

You don’t owe any gold-brick woman anything when you decide to drop her off of a gold pier; least of all an “explanation”.

Five minutes later, I received this.


Here’s your picture.


She also included a link to her MySpace page, which I will not include to protect your appetite.



And thus concludes today’s lesson on how to deal with women. They don’t think like men. They don’t have feelings. Women are just broken vending machines. Hit the right buttons at the right time and you get whatever you want. Unfortunately, none of its any good and at best, it’s past its expiration date by seven years.

Just so you’re aware, your comments, opinions and views are nothing to me.

You need to be hospitalized.

If calling people fat and encouraging them to engage in eating disordered behaviours are the only insults you behold, perhaps you should go back to primary school? It’s displaying your mental capacity when you degrade people in such an immature way.