Yes, I have gained weight. Yes, I do have a big stomach now, and yes, I’m proud of it.
I know it’s easy to make the pregnancy jokes. Call me Fat Joe all you want, it’s okay. Give me advice on how to get rid of MY paunch. Go ahead, wonder aloud if I’m now married, cos a woman’s cooking is the only way I could have gotten said paunch.
By all means, tell me how I’ve become fat and lazy and let myself go, and I need to do something about it before I become “cursed” forever. It’s easy, isn’t it?
Well, you can feck. Right. Off.
I don’t mind that I’ve gained a few pounds; in fact, I’m pretty damn pleased. I don’t mind that I’ve become the easy target of a few unimaginative lames spewing repetitive fat jokes; I welcome it.
It just shows me how stupid people can be. Until you buy my fecking groceries, don’t tell me how to eat. Until you pay my fecking gym fees, don’t tell me how to exercise.
You have your own problems, deal with them before you try make funny little jokes about when my baby’s due.
And if you do, don’t expect me to smile and take it like a good little scout, cos I’m not a good little scout, I’m a snarky motherfecker who’s probably much wittier than you.
Why am I so fat? Cos every time I feck your wife she gives me a biscuit.
Why are you so broke?