You know what I don’t like? When I go shopping, and some snooty little salesperson tells me how good I look in something, when really I just look like a fat lard busting out of the seams. I’d rather just give you a few dollars to be honest with me than to lie to my face and tell me I look good. Like how can I possibly walk around in public when I have fat rolling out of every corner of my body. Maybe you should go eat a giant bag of mini eggs, and tell me how you feel, while you’re busting out of a size 14 dress that’s two sizes too small. People think it’s crazy, but I would love it if someone told me I looked terrible in something. Like I remember this one time when Donald Chow asked me if I was serious when I busted out by jean shorts. I didn’t see anything wrong with them, but he said that it looked like I was wearing “a jean material bean bag chair” which was “falling off my ass”. I thought I looked good, but I appreciated the criticism. Actually, I’m lying, because I totally yelled at him, and wore the jean shorts anyway.
On another note, Monday, I plan on telling the world exactly how much I weigh…Maybe…depends on my mood