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Okay, you've pretty much only got two cards you can play here. One, you're the class clown. Establish yourself as a hilarious, fun-loving (and twinkie-loving) classmate. Use your fat to your advantage. Physical comedy is huge here (literally). Think John Belushi, Chris Farley, or Carlos Mencia (no, wait, he's just fat, not funny). Hone your hilarity, and you'll fit right in (but you probably won't fit in your jeans).
If comedy's not your game, then there's really only one other option. Smell like poop. This is a long term strategy, but it'll work. Be that kid that can be smelt from across the room. Don't shower, don't wear clean clothes, and make sure that at least 15% of all fecal emissions do not make it outside your underwear (I can't stress 15% enough; anything less and you're just cheating yourself). The idea here is that your peers will be so disgusted by your formidable scent that they will completely forget how glorious your man-boobs are.
Now here's where the payoff comes:
By the time your 10-year high school reunion rolls around, make sure that you've taken care of that little hygiene problem. Don't worry about losing weight, because by that time, the odds are that 75% of your graduating class will be morbidly obese (95% if you live in Mississippi). Your classmates will marvel at how well you've cleaned up, and they'll also remember how much of a trend-setter you were with that triple-chin.
If all else fails, just remember, at least you're not the kid that wet himself in the 3rd grade. He'll never be able to live that down.
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2 comments:
As always, I find your musings highly suspect. While I do not doubt your concern for the so called "Fat Kids", I question whether there is not the slightest hint of sarcasm in your words. Perhaps this is due to a lack of possible companionship that, not only pushes the mind past such asinine commentary, but also eases the entire being into a state of "moving on with life and not being so smug".
I will continue to monitor your posts. If not to fully dissect and expose them as complete refuse; at least to remember the fact that those who have not felt the silken skin of a passionate lover have way too much time on their hands to draw on mustaches.
I look forward to all your wisdom. It makes me feel like I have accomplished something in life.
Your brother in Christ,
Wormwood
I like ice cream sandwiches!
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