I like pudding.

Fat women make me want to throw up. I’m sorry, they do. More so than fat men (not much more though). And I’m not talking about overweight by 20, 30, or even 50 pounds. And I’m also not talking about people that are trying to lose weight, and understand that it’s unhealthy to be overweight. Those people are fine by me.  I’m talking about these zip code-sized, cheese-filled, take-four-seats-in-an-airplane fat people that are OK with how fucking ginormous they are. Take that fat-ass from ‘Precious’, for example. What’s her name? Gotabig Sandwich? Yea, I think that’s it. She’s perfectly OK with being the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man’s ugly sister. As evidenced by this. When she laughed off criticism, a 4.4 magnitude earthquake hit LA, for Christ’s sake. And then she ate Ryan Seacrest, mistaking him for a cheeseburger. The amount of food she’s taken in must be astounding. They should just put her down, and feed her to hungry villages. They’d eat like kings for weeks.

And how about this stupid bitch in NJ who weighs 600lbs (pictured above in all her curvaceous Rascal scooter glory)? Here’s the kicker– SHE WANTS TO REACH 1000!!! Her husband explained that he’s attracted to fat woman, but only because he’s deathly afraid of being stranded on a desert island with nothing to eat. They have sex, and he plays hide-and-go-seek at the same time. Then instead of smoking a cigarette, he smokes her a ham. This ungodly thing eats 70 pieces of sushi in a sitting! That’s not sushi, that’s an entire fucking Bluefin Tuna. I hope she gets hit by a Twinkie truck 10 minutes before her final weigh-in, and then I hope she’s too fucking fat to bring to the hospital in an ambulance. Then they have to use one of the horse trailers on the back of a pickup to take her disgusting-ness in. She gets upset when she has to run after her daughter because it keeps her weight down. Oh Heaven forbid, you run around with your kid for a few minutes, before you writhe over in pain and eat a box of jelly donuts. You fat, disgusting slob.

If you’re fat (really fat), you should not also be stupid. That’s just unfair. But some really fat people are just that. They say, “I’m happy with the way I look!”, and, “I love my figure!” Yea… so does Applebee’s. That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard! You’re happy that you weigh 350 lbs?! That’s like saying, “God, I sure am glad I got this cancer… I was so worried that I was going to have to live a full life! WHHHEEEWWWW!”

This entire post, I’ve rambled, simply because this gets me so fucking angry I can’t think straight.

Here’s a word of advice, if you’re one of the above people I’ve described.

Stop perpetually eating for like 10 minutes, and walk around. Or kill yourself, so no more food is wasted on you.

Hi! I'm Tara, and I cut myself!

I’ve never wanted to strangle someone, as much as I wanted to strangle the three phone operators that I spoke to from TD Bank yesterday. Allow me to give you some background.

You see, when you use TDBank Online, you’re given access to your previous 18 months worth of statements. Great, right? Sure, especially for someone like me who owns his own business. I need access to those statements to do my quarterly taxes, and such. So, yesterday I needed to print my statements for my quarterly taxes, when I noticed that my September through December 2009 statements weren’t in the drop down list. Naturally, I was perturbed. I needed these in about a half hour to give to my accountant. Being the intelligent fellow that I claim to be, I gave the ol’ ‘toll-free’ 888 number a ringy-ding-dingle. Apparently, toll-free now means intelligence-free–whoopie! First off, those stupid fucking automated menus make me want to shove a red-hot poker up my ass. But I digress, as that’s another topic entirely. When I finally get someone on the phone and explained the entire issue (along with my time constraint), I was politely told that this wasn’t customer service–this was the operator, who would connect me somewhere else. Well, why the fuck didn’t you stop me from explaining the entire situation?! I could have saved myself 10 goddamn minutes! At this point, my head started to hurt a little.

Next, I was given to customer service–oh boy. The lady from customer service was extremely nice. However, at this point I don’t give a shit if anyone is nice–I want someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing, and Phyllis sounded like she had just had a lobotomy. I calmly try to explain my predicament to her, and that I’d like October, November, and December statements E-mailed to me, so that I can print them out, and take them with my to my accountant’s office. Keep in mind, they have my fucking E-mail on file–I had not provided them with it. Phyllis then said something that will stick with me forever–”We can’t E-mail it to you, because we don’t know if you’re you.” …

Sorry, I just started crying a little bit. This is what our world has come to. I can’t get an E-mail sent to the address that they have on file for me, because it somehow might be re-routed to me, who may not be me. Jesus, my head really hurts now. Phyllis then told me that it’s possible to have it mailed to me, via USPS, and it would only take one day! Wow! One whole day?! That’s it! That’d be awesome, except for as I told her 4 times now, I NEED IT IN THE NEXT 20 MINUTES. Needless to say, Phyllis became a little upset with my demeanor, and transferred me over to the Online banking section of cubicles. She says it was because maybe they could do a better job helping me… I think it’s because Phyllis doesn’t like me anymore.

So, now I’m on the phone with Tara from Online Banking, and boy is she a delight! She starts the conversation by putting me on hold, and leaving me there for 5 minutes. She then (sounding like a depressed 15 year old), reiterated the mailing via USPS option that Phyllis had pitched. No go, Tara. No go. So, then she gives me a new option–I can have it faxed to a branch, and then go pick it up. Well hold my ankles, and call me submissive… that doesn’t fucking help either. Then I asked the magical question–”Can you fax it to a number that I give you?” Well, sure! They can do that! GREAT GOOGILY MOOGILY WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?! I then gave her a fax number (actually it’s a program that receives the fax, and transmits it to an E-mail which is sent to the address that they didn’t want to send it to, in the first place–so eat it bitches)., and she faxed over the statements.

I opened the E-mail only to find out… all of the statements are illegible.

Fuck you, TD Bank. Fuck you very much.