The American Medical Assn. voted Tuesday to declare obesity a disease, a move that effectively defines 78 million American adults and 12 million children as having a medical condition requiring treatment.
And just like that, the pharmaceutical gods will be lined-up, on their knees, and feeding docile and well-travelled clinical trial seeking meat-puppets—but extra chickeny ones because the tingly fingers of always-ever-improved industrialization need to tackle obesity, a condition with many causes and few easy fixes.
Wake up fatties—you’re now obese! And have now been documented incurable but treatment-worthy.
Oops, a bit of a Freddy slip there. My fault to the absolutest—because being ‘fat’ is obviously dissociated with the sponged-up reality of obesity. Just as pre-diabetes, pre-hypertension, and every other suffixed alphabetical wordplay is minor in comparison to the ominous shadow of the actual disease. An afterthought having been labeled something beyond the mix of the post phase three puppets.
Sure you will suffer the same dust on a book cover annoyances that these rounded up super-spheres will, but you will be outside the spectrum. An outcast. A socially acceptable thumbs-up outcast, puttering your days away until the dies hit the felt once more and ensnare the built-too-well crowd that always seems to be galloping around with a rectum ready to burst and a chip on their shoulders because the incredible BMI calculation morphed their chiseled man-milkers into sloppily hanging jello boobage, and the baby-fat pudgsters living in this plus-size fantasy.
As the AMA backpedals the idea that obesity is a condition and swerves to an abrupt diagnosis worthy of much needed investigation, I am fairly certain that the stoutness of their preferred back pocket has greatly improved and will only continue to choo-choo in that very same direction.
Time to wake-up and not food pyramid your day away or whole-grain your smile all the way to the doctor with an impecable ability to always recommend mouthfuls upon mouthfuls of chemicals? F-U-C-K no! You’re fat, not obese. Be as you be and sweat your booty off and grand canyon as many toxically comfortable seats, sofas, and et ceteras as you damn well please!
Snooze. Pill. Big coffin. Really big coffin.