The enigmatic appeal of femwalruses in modern Western society. Did I miss something?

I must be missing something.

I must not have received the memo. Ah…alienated again, left out in the cold.

How did I not learn that obese femwalruses are sexy and hot?

Many of them sure act it. I’m amazed at how loud and self-assured they appear. They strut around with those tubs of abdominal lard hanging over their belts like cud dripping out a cow’s mouth. They act as if they are the shit. They dress in clothes that reveal every grime-infested fold of cellulite-ridden bodily playing field that should normally be taut and not distended by mounds of adipose. They are loud, shrill and their confidence pierces the souls of clear-thinking men. Sadly, such men seem to be in short supply.

See, it’s not femwalruses I have have a beef with, per se.

I’m not one of those obese-phobic guys that populate the PUA/MRA community. I’ve never fallen prey to its reactive abhorrence of heavy women.

Hey, I’m a live-and-let-live kinda guy. I understand human weakness. I tolerate it and understand it, for I am also a weak man. I am not perfect, and consequently, I do not feel entitled to experience such in women. If you’re fat, I understand that you have an addiction to food. I have had addictions in my life and I understand, more than anyone, how consuming they can become. I am lucky in that food has never been one of my addictions. At this point in my life, I would assume I am at a lower BMI than about 90% of all healthy, Western, 50-year-old males. I easily resist food, but still, I accept that it is not easy for everyone. I also accept that there are women who battle the incessant need to consume calories. Our modern, techno-culture is diseased, and we seek to fill a collective hole that devours our soul, and we do it with food. Food reigns in this world. Food is not just sustenance, it is recreation, it is luxury, and with it, all the unhealthy ramifications of an obesity that runs rampant through our population follows.

What bothers me are the femwalruses who act as if they are healthy and who presume that it is us who are wrong, not them, and their 3000+ daily calorie addiction and matching XXL wardrobe to match.

It is this entitled supposition that us normal-bodied people must culturally cater to their space-wasting maximal heft, and that food-abuse is normal and should be socially sanctioned.

This is what fucking bothers me about femwalruses. Not all femwalruses are like this. There are obese women who realize how unhealthy they are and who seek to better their physique and lifestyle. It’s not an easy path and they should not be mocked.

But some femwalruses are simply intolerable cretins of gluttony. They do not apologize for their abundance of flesh, and in fact, force it upon us to accept it and embrace it as “beautiful.” Bullshit. Don’t flaunt your imperfection as saintly.

Fat is not beautiful, and this is how I assumed all men should react to such nauseating femwalrosity.

I was baffled that such land whales should exist…those with the impeccable self-assurance of a Miss America contestant.

They waltz around, chub rub smoking, confident that they contain man lust in their meaty little palms. I’ve smirked about this and wondered if it was owing to some demented sort of psychological compensation; since these women know men don’t want them, they act as if they are in fact wanted and express it in offensive degrees. Or some trite psychological garbage like that.

But it wasn’t until I shared an office with a femwalrus that I realized, painfully, that it is not compensation these women are guilty of. They honestly believe they are hot because they receive painful doses of positive reinforcement all goddamned day long!

Let me tell you about the femwalrus I share an office with.


This is a glimpse of her bloated face, sans cosmetics.

She is truly a Fat Woman in all respects.

She eats throughout the day. She licks her fingers sumptuously while bloviating, she burps and makes other inadvertent sounds of digestive inundation, she waddles, she is loud, she is egregious.

She is a glutton in all respects of sensual input. Food, emotions, sensations…all of it, baby. She is vile. Her main preoccupation is cosmetics and clothing. She dresses well and knows how to apply strategic doses of makeup that extinguish all attention from the fact that she is a fat, slovenly specimen of hoggishness.

There is nothing about her I find remotely sexy, nor deserving of the scintillating doses of workplace innuendo I am prone to entertain with other, game women at work.

I can’t force myself to behold her presence as anything remotely female.

She disgusts and repulses. She is the embodiment of the Fat Woman that the MRA/PUA-sphere gets worked up over. If one fails to entertain nuance, one would assume all fat women are like my roommate and thus, find it easy to hate them all in their sprawling entirety.

Thankfully, not all fat women are like her.

Yet, despite my sexual and evopsychological protestations, she receives a constant dose of aesthetic adulation all day long. Last week, there was a day, in which, 1) a female walked in to our office and told her she loved the color she was wearing; that it looked really nice on her, 2) an overly familiar male manager feigned leaning down outside our office while staring up her skirt (which is not difficult being that she can never sit like a lady because her fat legs are incapable of resting together), and 3) she was toyed with, over the phone, by a guy who works in another area. He has been hot on her robust tail for the better part of a year, despite the fact she’s dating someone.

Yes, dating.

This was just one day.

With that kind of constant favorable input, how can one blame femwalruses for feeling such displaced entitlements of physical esteem?

I didn’t get that fat memo.

Perhaps I would find my roommate hot if I could read it. Can someone please forward it to me?



Any text or image format will do. I need it ASAP.