So tonight instead of buckling down and watching a bunch of random fatties getting strip-searched and robbed of their dignity and hidden bacon, Rico and I went out to enjoy our last meal before the next weeks of inevitable weeping, sweating and vomiting destroys our desire for dinner.
Over a questionable Surf ‘n Turf we discussed our hopes and dreams towards the new season. Rico reckons because this shit is all about parents fatting up their children, there’s a good chance that at least one of these bitches will get punchy and that, maybe just maybe, the medic will get called for more than just a giant gut of a woman stubbing her tit on the treadmill.
I’m concerned that the show’s tendency to spend more time prodding porkers to cry over lost relationships and strangers spitting on them in the supermarket, rather than the bent over grunt action losing this amount of blubber requires, is going to explode this season, and that we might end up spending five nights a week listening to fat Jenny blubbering about how if she’d only been addicted to crack rather than carbs, fat Kathy might have been thin Kathy because everyone knows druggies care shit about doing the groceries and plus she might have met a hot policeman while throwing bucks at the bailiff.
Rico agrees with me and adds that he doesn’t like watching fat people cry because it makes him think of self-basting turkeys and if that shit had been invented when he was a kid he wouldn’t have had to wear a mouthguard to survive Christmas dinner.
We also agreed that we are excited that Trainer Barbie appears to have been given the sack – most likely for never bothering to Napisan the fake tan off her karate whites. Either that or she really WAS Shannon Poynton in drag and he just got tired of all the damn costume changes.
Let the excitement begin!