They’re gonna pass this on the backs of the armed forces. This should not be passed by anyone unless they eat it. If they eat it, then I’m in favor of them passing it, otherwise, don’t pass it.”

On the plus side, finally a legislative maneuver Fat America can understand.

[Media Matters]

A 600-lb. woman in New Jersey has her eyes on the prize (when they’re not on literally every single deep-fried food in the tri-state area, that is); she’s trying to gain another 400 lbs., weigh a half ton, and become the world’s fattest woman. Huzzah?

Not to rain on her parade right out of the gate, but is this really news? As anyone who’s been to a Burger King in the past year can attest, reaching 1,000 lbs. seems to be the goal of most Americans.

From the NY Post:

Dream big!

A New Jersey woman, who now tips the scales at 604 pounds, said it’d be a “fantasy” to gobble her way to fame and someday weigh 1,000 pounds.

“When you have a 3-year-old daughter and you’re trying to run a household, things like this tend to be a fantasy,” Donna Simpson told The Post today.

The 42-year-old Old Bridge resident insists she has no realistic hopes of ever making 1,000 pounds, but will try her best to consume, wolf, munch and devour her way to hog heaven.

If that all weren’t terrifying enough, we learn that Simpson’s goal is more specific than strict fatty-boombattyhood; she actually wants to be the heaviest woman to give birth! Just so we’re clear, that means someone has to be the guy who impregnates the heaviest woman to give birth. Yikes.

But how does she do it? Well how many people have numerous “favorite” foods? And how many people have a $750-a-dayweek eating habit that they cover by eating on the Internet?

My favorite food is sushi, but unlike others I can sit and eat 70 big pieces of sushi in one go,” she told London’s Daily Mail. “I do love cakes and sweet things, doughnuts are my favorite.

“I love eating and people love watching me eat,” she told the British newspaper. “It makes people happy, and I’m not harming anyone.”

Congratulations! One of 4,000,000 sperm fertilized that egg. Here’s your fucking award: a screaming, crying homunculus nincompoop who will swallow about $650,000 of your hard-earned dollars, and that’s before you send the little fungus to Brown.

Here’s exhibit #4352-B in the ongoing case of SCFOM v. Stupid White People. A Glad commercial. You know, the trash bags. It has all the things we hate. Precocious kids. Ugly kids. Kids with stupid names. Jew ‘fros. Red heads. And parents acting as if cleaning up after dinner is just, like, so hard. Let’s go to the tape!

Of course, some asshole on YouTube has labeled this “Cute commercial.” This person is clearly caught up in a web of parental bliss and probably hasn’t had sex with his or her partner in six months because, you know, they fell in love with their children or whatever stupid thing white people say when they’re more interested in their kids than they are their spouses.

I mean, really. The little red head dipshit on the left is named Skylar. Skylar? Why don’t you just name him “Paste Eater”? And by the way, Skylar is a girl’s name.

Also awful: Kids giving tips to adults. Nope. That’s never, never, never cute. There was this one time when a kid gave me advice about how consolidate my credit card bills into one easy payment, and then he peed his pants. Because he was 3.

Know the worst part of “Family Ties”? When they made that little punk-ass Brian Bonsall a four-year-old who cracked wise with his older brother Alex P. Keaton. Know where Brian Bonsall is now? This is just a guess, but: Crystal meth.

Back to this stupid commercial that sucks (and everyone who had anything to do with its creation should be destroyed): Kid on the right — your stupid gap-toothed smile is not charming or cute. Know what I think of when I think of you? Joe Buck as a kid, and he must have sucked because Joe Buck as an adult is a total motherfucker. Don’t know who Joe Buck is? Stop reading the Harry Potter books and play a sport that isn’t lacrosse, dick.

SCFOM rests its case.

Just take this Huffington Post piece about Alaska and Groundhog Day (a holiday that’s more memorable for the movie it inspired than its actual purpose).

Then-Gov. Sarah Palin signed a bill last year to make every Feb. 2 Marmot Day in Alaska.

The bill was introduced by Sen. Linda Menard, a Wasilla Republican.

Because groundhogs are not common in Alaska, Menard says it made sense for the marmot to become Alaska’s version of Punxsutawney Phil, the Pennsylvania groundhog famed for his winter weather forecasts.

Menard. Rhymes with retard. Which is what Rahm Emanual called a group of liberal activists, which in turn inspired Sarah Palin to write a retarded Facebook post about her baby Trig, who — just in case you forgot — has Down Syndrome.

We’re almost cynical enough to think that Palin signed this retarded bill just so people like us would call it retarded and give her an opportunity to talk about how we’re terrible human beings. Almost. But in actuality, this move of her seems just stupid enough to be genuine.

Donald E. Goerke, the Campbell Soup Co. executive who hit the bull’s-eye of prepared foods by overseeing the creation of the kid-friendly circular pasta called SpaghettiOs, has died. He was 83.

Gorke died Sunday of heart failure at his home in Delran, N.J., a Campbell spokeswoman confirmed.

In the mid-1960s, Goerke — pronounced GUHR-kee — was dubbed “the Daddy-O of SpaghettiOs” for leading the team charged with creating an easy-to-eat canned pasta.

Hundreds of shapes were proposed during the yearlong debate, but Goerke ended the chatter by saying, “Enough already! We’re gonna do something that’s simple,” he told the Seattle Times in 1990.

Via LA Times

We know, we know. Not everyone out there has a culinary establishment that needs rules like these. No one expects the people working at the counter at McDonald’s to be friendly or polite or to give a shit that you don’t like mayonnaise (it’s fast food, for Christ’s sake, not haute cuisine). In the finer establishments, though, it’s no surprise that people get rankled by crap service. What is a surprise is that there is crap service. Here are some of out favorite things restaurant staffers should never do, according to Bruce Buschel:

52. Know your menu inside and out. If you serve Balsam Farm candy-striped beets, know something about Balsam Farm and candy-striped beets.

And know that Nueske’s bacon sucks.

57. Bring the pepper mill with the appetizer. Do not make people wait or beg for a condiment.

Yes. No waiting.

60. Bring all the appetizers at the same time, or do not bring the appetizers. Same with entrees and desserts.

Agreed. (The companion to this rule is #17: Do not take an empty plate from one guest while others are still eating the same course. Wait, wait, wait.)

62. Do not fill the water glass every two minutes, or after each sip. You’ll make people nervous.

Yes. Stay the fuck away from my water glass until it’s nearly empty. See #62(a).

62(a). Do not let a glass sit empty for too long.

65. Always remove used silverware and replace it with new.

Yes. I left my fork on the plate for a reason. Take it with you. Don’t return it to me.

68. Do not reach across one guest to serve another.

“Pardon my reach” does not excuse this one. You just let me know you’re a prick. I’ll pardon your reach of you let me dock you 1 percent.

77. Do not disappear.

Seriously. You can calculate how many points you lost on the tip by how long you’re out of my line of sight.

84. Do not refill a coffee cup compulsively. Ask if the guest desires a refill.

Yeah. Do you know how difficult it is to get the cream/sugar ratio figured out for a coffee with which one is unfamiliar? When I’ve finally managed to reach a good balance I don’t need you to screw it up.

85. Never bring a check until someone asks for it. Then give it to the person who asked for it.

Don’t rush me. Ever. I don’t give a shit how busy you think you are.

88. Do not ask if a guest needs change. Just bring the change.

Such a simple rule. Why is it so difficult to follow?

94. Do not play an entire CD of any artist. If someone doesn’t like Frightened Rabbit or Michael Bublé, you have just ruined a meal.

Ack. Yes. I don’t want to hear your Bob Marley playlist, either. This is a big problem in New Haven, Conn., for some reason.

99. Do not show frustration. Your only mission is to serve. Be patient. It is not easy.

Also know that most difficult (or maybe less outwardly “nice” patrons) tip well. So take it the fuck easy.

Buschel also throws in a couple great suggestions from readers — hard to believe — that didn’t make his lists. And here’s one that we think should be near the top: Strike the phrase “you guys” from the restaurant lexicon.

Here are a few that reeeeally need to be added:

1. Don’t ask “How’s everything tasting?” Bleh. Poor word choice. “How is everything?” suffices.

2. When seating the guest, don’t put the menu on top of the unused silverware. Think where that menu’s been.

3. Don’t ask if “we’re ready” to order. You’re not eating with me.

And everyone out there is black, which in this metaphor means fat. You’re so fat that you wrote a book called Fat!So? You’re so fat your cereal bowl comes with a lifeguard. You’re so fat you got baptized at Sea World. You’re so fat the last time you saw “90210″ you were on a scale.

Are we cruel? Maybe. Are you fat? Definitely.

So we were reading the LA Times this morning (yes, we know: big mistake), and we ran across this story about — and we swear we’re not making this up — fat activists. These unapologetic fatties are working toward a day “when fat phobia becomes as intolerable as racism.”

Nice idea (not really). Problem: Your logic is retarded. You can’t change the color of your skin unless you’re Michael Jackson (RIP). You can eat less McDonald’s. Or walk up a flight of stairs. Or get off your goddamn Segway.

Before we blow a gasket bitching about these fatties, we’re going to get into this article, breaking it down nearly line by line.

Getting heavy people to feel comfortable in their skin, however ample, and focus on healthy behaviors is only half the fat-acceptance battle; the other half is getting society to make room for fat people.

Anyone notice that the lede sentence has a fat joke? “However ample.” And society’s going to need to make room, for sure. Because fat people are fat and take up more space than the rest of us. Because they’re fat.

Marilyn Wann of San Francisco is among the nation’s fat activists.

Yes, apparently that’s a thing.

She became passionate about defending the rights of fat people when she was denied health insurance based solely on her weight.

You know what else she’s passionate about? Pizza.

That same week, a guy she’d been seeing told her he was embarrassed to introduce her to his friends because of her body.

We understand why he feels that way.

“If I’d kept silent, I would be yielding to discrimination,” said Wann, who is 43, 5 feet 4 and 290 pounds, and considers herself a healthy, physically active person.

Now, we’re not doctors and neither is Wann, but we’re sure our doctors and hers would agree that “healthy” and “physically active” are not the best descriptors for her. Unless her physical activity is eating pies.

“I don’t think anyone should be excluded from love or rights based on weight.”

On this point, we agree.

So, like growing numbers of Americans[...]

– ha! growing –

[...]in recent years, she spoke up. She started a zine for fat people, wrote the book “Fat!So?” and helped pass an ordinance in San Francisco making it illegal to discriminate based on height and weight. She now does corporate training to promote fat acceptance in the workplace. She’d like to change two beliefs: that people chose what they weigh, and that weight equals health. Both are false, she says.

Except they’re not false. Sure, people don’t choose their weight, per se. But they do have — barring some glandular problem — control over what they put in their bodies and how often they move. Again, barring say, a thyroid problem, there’s a contrast between eating spinach, walking a lot and not being fat, and eating spaghetti bolognese, not walking anywhere and being fat.

Size tolerance, fat-acceptance activists say, should be right up there with religious tolerance, ethnic tolerance and gay tolerance.

Again, false. Again, we’re talking, for the most part, choice. We’re talking effort. We’re talking not drinking a milkshake every day. If a black person wanted to change the color of his skin, he couldn’t (except Michael Jackson). No matter how hard gay people try not to be gay — even Larry Craig and Charlie Crist — they’re going to be gay. And sure, you can go from being a Christian to being a Jew, but it’s a more difficult process than not stuffing doughnuts in your face.

“It’s the culture that has to change,” says Judith Matz, director of the Chicago Center for Overcoming Overeating. “I look forward to the day when fat phobia becomes as intolerable as racism.”

And we look forward to the day when litter becomes lollipops.

Joanne Ikeda is emeritus professor of nutrition at UC Berkeley, where she taught nutritional sciences for 37 years. She’s also a member of the National Assn. to Advance Fat Acceptance.

Oh, oh! And let us guess: She’s also fat.

“I joined NAAFA because I wanted to hear these people’s stories, and get insight into their experiences. When I heard people talk about going to the grocery store and having strangers take food out of their carts, I wanted to cry.”

In fairness, you shouldn’t walk up to a fat person in a grocery store and remove food from her cart. That’s really fucked up. Plus, it’s playing with fire.

Ikeda, who is 65, 5 feet 2 and 190 pounds with a BMI of 34.7, says others make unfair and untrue assumptions about fat people.

First, we were correct. She’s fat. Second, what’s this about unfair assumptions?

“People assume if you’re heavy, that you’re lazy, and that you have no self-control . . . . They think you’re stupid, and don’t exercise. If I could give one message, it would be, ‘Don’t prejudge.’ “

We don’t think fat people are stupid.

Most people feel ambivalent about fat people, says Lesleigh Owen of Monrovia, who is president of the Los Angeles chapter of NAAFA. “They think they should treat people well regardless of their size, but also view them as a big problem driving up healthcare costs.”

LOL! Big problem! Anyone notice this article is bursting with fat jokes?

Owen, who is 35, 5-feet-7 and 360 pounds, teaches sociology at Chaffey College in Rancho Cucamonga. She’s married and likes how she looks. She swims and belly dances. “I consider myself very healthy, and I think my doctor would agree.”

Which doctor is this? The one who killed Michael Jackson? We’d love to get your doctor’s opinion.

“When people say fatties are driving up the healthcare costs, I want to point out how arbitrary that is that they would single out that group and not the people who talk on their cellphones while driving, or who don’t wear helmets or seat belts, or who drive too fast, or who are stressed out all the time. Where’s the hue and cry about them?”

OK, let’s stop being deluded. We understand that you think you’re happy with the way you look. But your delusion shouldn’t extend to rising health care costs and their links to obesity. That’s not arbitrary. It’s fact. And as for your ridiculous suggestion that there’s no uproar about any of the other things you mention, here’s an article about banning texting while driving. Here’s a statement about wearing a fucking helmet. There are 49 states with seat belt laws. We’re guessing there was a hue and cry about those things, because rarely do laws and ordinances get passed because everyone’s cool with, say, drunk driving. As for an outcry about driving too fast, really? Really? You’re throwing that in with being fat? Are you fat? You sound fat.

“It’s true, we shouldn’t judge people by their weight,” says Janet Pregler, director of the Iris Cantor-UCLA Women’s Health Center and a professor of clinical medicine at the David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA. “Obesity is not their fault. But it isn’t true that we should stop trying to help them.”

We agree. We suggest you start with Michael Pollan’s book, In Defense of Food. His simple suggestion: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” There, we just helped you. And, Dr. Pregler, “Obesity is not their fault”? Categorically? Again, we’re not doctors, but that seems disingenuous.

Meanwhile, folks like Wann, Ikeda and Owen are trying — not for thinness, but for overall good health. Not for personal acceptance, which they’ve achieved, but for more acceptance from society. And they’re gaining it — slowly.

Of course, they’d probably gain it faster if they weren’t so fat. Or did cardio.

We’d go the distance and say it more eloquently, and blah blah blah, but in the end, that’s what it’s all about. Ben & Jerry, libs that they are, think dudes and chicks should be able to same-marriage.

SCFOM to all the fat pieces of crap out there who are now undoubtedly pissed off that a couple fat pieces of crap in Vermont would crap up their favorite way to get fat: Which is stronger, your love of ice cream, or your hatred of homos? What a conundrum!

Fear not, gay bashers. A little thing called labeling prevents you from facing this affront directly:

The move is mostly symbolic, as Burlington-based Ben & Jerry’s isn’t changing labels on “Chubby Hubby” pints sold in stores.

Spokesman Sean Greenwood said revising product labels takes 18 months, although he said Ben & Jerry’s hasn’t ruled out retailing “Hubby Hubby” in the future.

In the meantime, a wedding-themed Ben & Jerry’s truck will hand out free “Hubby Hubby” across Vermont today. Scheduled stops include the Vermont Capitol, where lawmakers passed a gay-marriage law that takes effect today.

That should make this guy happy (which is to say, unhappy):

[T]he name change is giving gay-marriage opponents an ice cream headache. “It’s a bad idea, especially because I think they’re just doing it to rub it in that Vermont has legalized gay marriage,” said Brian Camenker of MassResistance.org.

One person’s bad idea is another person’s (or company’s) good idea. If we were going to choose an ice cream on any given day, it would probably be some form of Häagen-Dazs. But today? Ben & Jerry‘s, please! Huzzah!

“We’re on this story,” says the anchor. Because it’s really important.

Not that there’s really anything wrong with judging the hell out of this food product (and we really hesitate using the word “food”), but note the anchor’s contempt for KFC’s Double Down sandwich, followed by her recitation of Fox News’ bogus “We report, you decide” motto.

Just kidding. We’re not confused. See, in hipsterland (i.e., Ft. Greene and Williamsburg, Brooklyn), guys are rocking a pot belly. Not a full-fledged beer gut — God forbid a hipster be mistaken for a slovenly frat guy — but a gut that our writer calls the “Ralph Kramden.”

Problem: No hipster knows who Ralph Kramden is. Second problem: The guts in these photos aren’t pot bellies. These guys are fucking fat.

Barf. Let’s go to the story.

This summer the unvarying male uniform in the precincts of Brooklyn cool has been a pair of shorts cut at knickers length, a V-neck Hanes T-shirt, a pair of generic slip-on sneakers and a straw fedora. Add a leather cuff bracelet if the coolster is gay.

Too pronounced to be blamed on the slouchy cut of a T-shirt, too modest in size to be termed a proper beer gut, developed too young to come under the heading of a paunch, the Ralph Kramden is everywhere to be seen lately, or at least it is in the vicinity of the Brooklyn Flea in Fort Greene, the McCarren Park Greenmarket and pretty much any place one is apt to encounter fans of Grizzly Bear.

Ugh. More.

Leading with a belly is a male privilege of long standing, of course, a symbol of prosperity in most cultures and of freedom from anxieties about body image that have plagued women since Eve.

Until recently, men were under no particular obligation to exhibit bulging deltoids and shredded abdominals; that all changed, said David Zinczenko, the editor of Men’s Health, when women moved into the work force in numbers. “The only ripples Ralph Kramden” and successors like Mike Brady of “The Brady Bunch” had to demonstrate were in their billfolds, said Mr. Zinczenko, himself a dogged crusader in the battle of the muffin top. “But that traditional male role has changed.”

Ha! David Zinczenko just said that women care more about money than a man’s physical appearance. At least someone had the balls to say it on the record.

The story takes a turn from “annoying piffle dreamt up by someone on deadline” to “you gotta be fucking kidding me” in the next few grafs. To wit:

[I]s the Ralph Kramden Barack Obama’s fault?

Hipsters, by nature contrarian, according to Dan Peres, the editor of Details, may be reacting in opposition to a president who is not only, as the press relentlessly reminds us, So Darn Smart, but also hits the gym every morning, has a conspicuously flat belly and, when not rescuing the economy or sparring with Kim Jong-il, shoots hoops.

“If we had a slob in the White House, all the hipsters would turn into some walking Chippendales calendar,” Mr. Peres said. Instead, the streets of Williamsburg are crowded with men who are, as he noted, “proudly rocking a gut.” Mr. Peres’s magazine has a term for these people: the new “poor-geoisie.”

First, hipsters aren’t by nature contrarian. They’re by nature assholes. The million tattoos, the fake vintage tees, the gear that costs $140 but looks like they found it in a dumpster: All of that stuff is reason enough to kill any hipster. Second, the poor-geoisie? How about the douchebag-geoisie? The pile-of-human-excrement-geoisie? The I-wanna-kick-you-in-the-baby-maker-geoisie? Any of those terms work? You fucking asshole hipsters. Let’s be clear: No hipster — that’s no hipster — is able to see past himself, so there’s no way he could be reacting to the president’s body image.

The one piece of decent knowledge in this story, of course, is rocked out by the gay guy.

I sort of think the six-pack abs obsession got so prissy it stopped being masculine,” is how Aaron Hicklin, the editor of Out, explains the emergence of the Ralph Kramden. What once seemed young and hot, for gay and straight men alike, now seems passé. Like manscaping, spray-on tans and other metrosexual affectations, having a belly one can bounce quarters off suggests that you may have too much time on your hands.

“It’s not cool to be seen spending so much time fussing around about your body,” Mr. Hicklin said.

And so guys can happily and guiltlessly go to seed.

Yeah, he’s right. It is a little prissy to be spending time on your body. But hipsters never spent time on their bodies. Now they’re just getting older and they can’t keep off the few extra pounds added each year by all the lattes they drink. Pretty soon all that milk fat will build in their arteries — because hipsters are vegetarians — harden and they’ll die, painfully, because the graphic design firm for which they work doesn’t offer them insurance (bet you’re missing that public option now, asshole!).

Sorry to be so vitriolic (not really sorry), but fuck you hipsters. And fuck you, NY Times, for taking them seriously. It’s not fucking hip to be fat. Honestly.

Hipsters don’t feel guilt over anything. If they did, they’d put a stop on the trust fund, volunteer once in a while and stop taking time off to find themselves. And then when they realized how pathetic and useless they are, they’d commit harakiri. Thanks hipsters, for unintentionally furthering the American dream of being fat, lazy and stupid. You dicks.

(Hat tip to Eric for sending in this gem NY Times piece, because fuck knows we’re not reading the style section on our own.)