The vile fag hag (I know).

Fat, vile, obnoxious fag hag.

We all know they are out there, in the wild, and not. We thank our lucky stars they are only out there and not in here, with us.

Sadly, I have no lucky stars. I get to share a room with one, five days each each week.

Fat, vile, obnoxious, loud-mouthed, know-it-all, despicable, fag hag.

Because I take one for the team. I have had months of close-up field observations regarding this permanently beached repugnancy. I just made up a word, but if it existed, this subject would be the primary candidate to wear that noun on her person at all times.

She spends most of her day, at least in the presence of me, her observer, eating, talking, playing with her phone, eating, talking, bellowing out loud, fake laughs, playing with her phone, eating, eating, talking, eating, bellowing out loud, fake laughs, working. Repeat as many times as possible to fill up her abbreviated time-sheet defrauded day of about 7.5 hours and you have my path to experience of this loathsome behemoth.

They are out there, my friends. Trust me.

You know it. But you only know it in concept, in displaced theory.

Like a gray, toxic mushroom that you would shudder to so much as to look at, this reprehensible human creature of opportunism, sloth, laziness, manipulation and gluttony, is nothing to be entertained intimately. Steer clear. Listen to me. I have no choice. Duty calls and I sacrificed my only sense of peace so that you may all be delivered from having to exist with such filth.

Perhaps what offends me most is the sense of shameless gluttony.

It is a gluttony that is more than the traditional sense of it. She overeats, to be sure. Food is a hallowed item used to sooth the soul and deliver sensory gratification. But the gluttony I speak of does not exist in a culinary vacuum. It is emblematic of a deeper spiritual malaise, and vapidness of substance and participation. Such gluttony as this vile whore possesses pervades all tendrils of her existence. She emits it and it follows her planetary girth like a radioactive plume of nausea. All in her vicinity are afflicted whether they enjoy it or not. All emotion, all physical participation, must be writ on the largest scale possible and expressed and experienced to the fullest, most conspicuous manner. She cannot just walk into a room simply and with a retired humility.

Fuck no.

Everything with her is a serpentine march, a manipulative parade of externally focused blather. As she walks into the hallway, she instantly peers through the clear slivers on the smoked glass walls to see if I’m there. She is on an incessant vigilance, noting carefully, between chewing on this morning’s 5 calorie/gram sugary cud, who is walking by, who is saying what. She lives entirely outside herself and this is gluttony of awareness, conspicuous consumption of external stimuli. There is an undeveloped embryo of humanity trapped amid those bubbly cliffs of jiggling physical jello and it needs to be quenched through physical ingratiation.

All emotion, all expression of such, is exaggerated and noted loudly and callously with those shrill and mammoth vocal chords.

Shameless, for she “bravely” confronts her vast blubber-ocity in thoroughly unapologetic terms.

Yes, I’m fat, she lumbers in that fat, verbal fry.

Fat is the least of your worries, babe.