Invasion of the Fat Police

I remember reading about this just recently, before Coffee Catholic was removed from the Fat Liberation feed.  I remember thinking at the time: it’s only a matter of time before we see them here! A) Because that’s how these things work: they start it in one area and then expand it everywhere else.  And B) because the NorthEast – where I live – is infamous for being the fattest area in England (note I said England; that’s different from saying Britain as a whole.  As a whole, Scotland is infamous for being the fattest in Britain).

The time?  Has come.

I was in the town centre today, doing my shopping.  I had to walk from one far end of the town centre to the other, and there they were, smack dab in the middle.  Big ole trailer, with huge signs saying:


Luckily for them, they didn’t approach me. (I say luckily for THEM, because if they had?  They’d be shitting out of two holes by the time I got done with them.  I’m SO not in the mood for this kind of shit today, and I’m filled with enough righteous indignation AND information to back me up that I wouldn’t be surprised if there were tears.)

But how bloody obvious?  What’s your label? Yep, that’s right, because EVERYBODY has to have a fucking label, right?  Oh no, can’t have people walking around without them!  They might think they’re…. *gasp!*… normal!!!!  Labels for this, labels for that… we’re all made to feel like we’ve got to fit perfectly into these tiny holes that the great mysterious “they” have set forth for us.  And if we don’t?  We’re WRONG.  We have to be FIXED.  CORRECTED.

It just pisses me right the fuck off.  We’re bombarded with images and information every fucking day of our lives telling us that WE’RE the abberation.  WE are what’s wrong in the world.

Wars, disease, terrorists, poverty, famine, child molesters, murderers… and WE’RE what’s wrong with the world?  All because we take up just a little bit more space than what “they” think we ought to?

Yeah.  Slapping a label on it is SO going to fix it.


4 Responses

  1. It’s going to “fix” it because if you don’t like the label they slapped on you, you’re going to do your damnedest to change yourself so you don’t fit the label. Of course, that only works with people who actually care about the labels others slap on them. Personally, label me all ya want, I don’t give rat’s ass for anyone’s opinion of me but my own, so their labels don’t mean shit to me, and if I don’t think I need “fixing”, I’m not about to change (and I’m a stubborn enough bitch that I don’t care what they try, I won’t change, and forcing only makes me more determined not to do whatever it is they want).

  2. What kinds of labels were they giving out exactly?

  3. You know, there’s a U.S. comedian who has a famous routine called “Here’s your sign” (meaning: you just did something really dumb, so here’s a sign identifying that fact.)

    I think if someone came up to me and asked me “what’s your label” I’d look at them and say, “Here’s your sign.”

    I don’t know. I suspect in the coming years I’m going to need to have several t-shirts made up with the phrase “Leave me the f*** alone” on the front and “What did I just tell you?!?” on the back, to be able to deal with all the nannying nannies.

  4. Well, my label is fat, ornery bitch, and I wear it with pride. No one’s going to ‘fix’ me.

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