Jerks of the Week - June 11, 2012

Jerks of the Week for June 11, 2012


JERK OF THE WEEK: The Four Fat Ladies

My friend Harris likes reading Jerks of the Week, save for one aspect of it. "Why do you always gotta make fun of fat women?" he once asked. "Sometimes it's genetic or something, and they can't help it."

This is true. Some people are unfortunate enough to have diabetes, so they can't control their weight. And that sucks. More often than not though, people are just lazy. America is the fattest country in the world, and Philadelphia is the fattest city in the fattest country, so I'm exposed to millions of obese women, many of whom do not have diabetes. I must point out though that when I write "fat ladies," I'm not talking about a woman who is maybe 10-30 pounds overweight. I have no issues with them. In fact, some may say that's a good thing because it enlarges their breasts.

A "fat lady," by my definition, is a female who weighs at least 350 pounds. Believe me, there are many 350-pound monstrosities wobbling around Philly.

Harris won't like this Jerks of the Week entry because it's about four specific fat ladies who have annoyed me recently. But here are two points before I delve into them:

1. I like to think of myself as a humanitarian. Whenever I make fun of fat ladies, an angel earns its wings. More importantly, if someone overweight reads this, it could inspire them to lose a few dozen pounds. They would change for the better because of me because they'd lead a healthier lifestyle. And no, I wouldn't ask for anything in return. Because I'm a humanitarian. All I want to do is help people.

2. I have legitimate beef with fat ladies because two actually tried to eat me at my old gym pool one day. Speaking of my old gym pool, that's the scene of the first crime.


Marshmallow Lady:

I usually go to my new gym pool as often as possible because there are hot chicks either working the front desk or teaching swim lessons. However, I had to go to the Rite-Aid near my parents' house (more on that later) recently, so I figured I'd go to my old gym because I was in the area. Big mistake.

I hopped into the 85-degree pool and began swimming my mile. A quarter of the way in, some water splashed into my mouth as I turned my head to take a breath. Was it a monstrous squid that wanted to strangle everyone with its tentacles? I wish. It was a fat lady, and she was bobbing up and down in my lane.

It took me a few minutes to recover from choking on the toxic pool water. You see, there are so many old people who pee and poop in my old gym pool that the lifeguards are forced to dump in extra chlorine to compensate. This is both good and bad. It's good that it prevents the patrons from contracting deadly diseases like Ebola. It's bad because swallowing too much of the water inadvertently can be hazardous. Also, failing to shower immediately afterward causes my skin to turn red and itch horribly.

As I was recovering, I noticed that the fat lady was doing something unusual. She was holding two white foam water weights, only she grasped each dangerously close to her mouth.

I was instantly relieved. She apparently thought the water weights were marshmallows, meaning she was too distracted to eat me.

I finished my mile uneventfully because Marshmallow Lady moved into a free lane. However, just as I was about to exit the pool, she got my attention with her loud voice and thick, obnoxious Russian accent:

Marshmallow Lady: EXCUSE, TO PLEASE!

Me: Yes?

Marshmallow Lady: VERE IZ LIFEGUARD!?

Me: I don't know.

Marshmallow Lady: HOW YOU NO KNOW VERE LIFEGUARD IZ!?

Me: I just finished swimming. How would I know?

Marshmallow Lady: I SEE YOU TALK VIZ HIM BEFORE SVIM.

Me: But that doesn't mean I know where he is now.

Marshmallow Lady: HMPH!

She said all of this in such a rude tone. I would have been taken aback, but most Russians act like this. Crazy Horse Girl (a Russian chick) once said to me, "If you walk into an American store, they ask, 'Hi, can I help you with something?' But in Russia, they yell, 'VAT YOU VANT!?' It's just the way we are."

Still, I don't know why Marshmallow Lady thought I knew where the lifeguard was. Yes, I spoke to him beforehand to find out what time the pool was closing, but didn't she see that I just completed a mile? How would I know where he went? Perhaps she was too busy figuring out why the foam water weights didn't taste like marshmallows to notice that I was swimming non-stop for close to a half hour.

I also wondered why she wanted to talk to the lifeguard. I left the pool area, so here's how I imagine that conversation went:

Lifeguard: You asked for me, ma'am?

Marshmallow Lady: VHY I NO CAN EAT ZIS?

Lifeguard: Eat what?

Marshmallow Lady: ZIS! VHY I CAN NO EAT ZIS MARSHMALLOW? NO TASTE LIKE MARSHMALLOW!

Lifeguard: It's not a marshmallow, ma'am. It's a foam water weight.

Marshmallow Lady: VHY VATER VEIGHT NO COME IN MARSHMALLOW OR CHOCOLATE FLAVOR!?

Lifeguard: Because it's a water weight. You're not supposed to eat in the pool area anyway.

Marshmallow Lady: YES, I SEE SIGN. SIGN SAY NO CAN EAT ON POOL DECK, BUT SIGN NO SAY YOU NO CAN COME VIS FOOD IN POOL AND EAT FOOD IN POOL!

It's true. The sign definitely doesn't say anything about not eating in the pool, so Marshmallow Lady has a legitimate gripe. I'm sure she would sue the pool and take all of the water weights as compensation if they tasted like marshmallows and chocolate.

Fat Pharmacist:

I walked into the locker room and immediately bumped into a 70-year-old rich man who often likes to brag about his conquests with much younger women. He told me he was seeing both a 39-year-old and a 38-year-old at this very moment. The latter, according to him, looked 23 in person and 18 on the beach in her "itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny tiny orange bikini."

I would have been extremely jealous of this, except for the fact that he showed me a picture of one of them on the phone, and it looked like a black-and-white photo of Brittany Spears - something anyone could find on Google Images by typing in "Brittany Spears black and white."

This conversation lasted about 40 minutes. I normally wouldn't have minded it, but I never got a chance to hop into the shower. I consequently started itching all over the place, particularly on my lower stomach area, which is still red as of this writing.

I rinsed off and drove to the aforementioned Rite-Aid. I needed to pick up some medicated toothpaste (PreviDent) that my dentist prescribed for me because my teeth are really bad (I had 17 cavities in one visit during college). I walked to the pick-up counter and instantly saw this unbelievably hot Russian woman. She was in her mid-20s, had brown hair and was wearing a short skirt. I instantly fell in love.

Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist: Vhat you vant!?

Me: You and me. On a plane right now. Flying to some tropical island.

Yeah, right. I'm nowhere near as smooth. Here's what actually went down...

Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist: Vhat you vant!?

Me: Umm... erm... uhh... me...?

Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist: Vhat you say!?

Me: Oh... uhh... pick up for Walter Cherepinsky.

Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist: Hold, to please.

Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist walked away and came back a couple of minutes later with an older, uglier, much fatter, blond Russian woman. Grimacing, the Fat Russian Pharmacist asked me for my information while Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist observed.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: VHAT YOU VANT!?

Me: Pick up for Walter Cherepinsky.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: YOU GET TOOZEPASTE!?

Me: Yes.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: CAN I HAVE DATE OF BIRZ, TO PLEASE!?

I gave her my birthdate, but something I was doing caught Fat Russian Pharmacist's attention.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: VHY YOU SCRATCH SO MUCH!?

Me: Pool water. And then an old guy told me that he was banging young girls.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: YOU NO CAN ORDER SOMEZING FOR SCRATCH, MUST COME FROM DOCTOR NOTE!

Me: I know. I just wanted the toothpaste.

Fat Russian Pharmacist: MMMHMMM...

I don't know why Fat Russian Pharmacist thought I was trying to con her into some prescribed itching ointment. Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist, meanwhile, was laughing at the exchange. She either found Fat Russian Pharmacist's paranoia ridiculously funny or was amused by how feverishly I was scratching my lower stomach.

Either way, it doesn't look like I'll be boarding a plane with Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist anytime soon.


Sponge Cake Hoarder:

I was still itching and scratching when I pulled into my driveway. I walked to my mailbox, which is down the block, and as I was returning home, I heard a young girl screaming, "Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!"

I followed the noise and saw a little girl, perhaps 4 years old, standing alone by herself atop a hill near my backyard. She kept yelling and crying, "Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!"

My first assumption was that she was lost. I too was lost once when I was a kid. I was 3 years old, and my parents couldn't find me at Sesame Place. They looked everywhere, but perhaps they should have checked the fun kiddie rides because that's where I was. I didn't even realize they were gone; I was too busy having a blast.

This girl was not, however. I thought about walking over and helping her out, but I ultimately decided not to. What was I going to do, ask her if she knows her parents' cell number or her house address? She's 4; she probably had no clue. My ultimate fear, however, was that her parents would see me with her as I was looking for them, and they would assume that I kidnapped their little girl. My mug then would be plastered all over that Megan's Law Web site, and then hot chicks like Short Skirt Russian Pharmacist would know about it and would refuse to get on planes with me.

I felt guilty about it, but I went inside. She was just standing there, so her parents would eventually find her, right? Well, that wasn't the case for the next 10 minutes. My office window overlooks the aforementioned hill, so I could see her crying, "Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!" She wouldn't stop. She stood there, sobbing and yelling continuously.

Enough was enough. I couldn't take it anymore, so I finally decided to help the little girl. I went outside and started walking toward her when I faintly overheard an older woman's voice. I looked over toward the deck where that voice was coming from, and it belong to a 350-pound Russian monstrosity, who was lounging on a chair and eating sponge cake.

The little girl kept crying, while the older woman answered back in Russian. It continuously went like this:

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: *** YELLS IN RUSSIAN! ***

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: *** YELLS IN RUSSIAN! ***

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: *** YELLS IN RUSSIAN! ***

You get the point. I understand Russian pretty well, but I couldn't hear what Sponge Cake Hoarder was saying because she had food in her mouth, while her voice was carrying in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, all I can do is imagine what was said...

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: YOU STAY ON HILL VHILE MOMMA EAT SPONGE CAKE NOM NOM NOM NOM!

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: NO! YOU CANNOT COME IN ZIS HOUSE VHILE MOMMA EAT SPONGE CAKE NOM NOM NOM NOM!

Little Girl: Mommmaaa Moooooooommmmmmaaaaaa!

Sponge Cake Hoarder: I REMEMBER LAST TIME YOU STEAL PIECE SPONGE CAKE FROM MOMMA SO I BANISH YOU TO HILL VHILE MOMMA EAT SPONGE CAKE NOM NOM NOM NOM!

Forget the Megan's Law Web site. My greatest fear should have been Sponge Cake Hoarder swallowing me.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner:

This story didn't happen recently; it occurred a couple of months ago, but I didn't have a good opportunity to talk about it. Now I can tell you what went down because the antagonist of this entry is the fourth fat lady.

There used to be a really cute waitress at this diner I often frequented on Saturdays. She was a cute brunette in her early 20s who seemed nice. However, upon stalking her Facebook account, I saw that she would post grammatically inept and completely stupid things like:

just order my I pohone im going to be soo cool like every one else !!

I still had some interest - like I said, she was cute - but it quickly faded away. It's a good thing too because she quit her waitressing job to become some sort of professional babysitter, whatever the hell that means.

I was upset for a while because I thought there wasn't going to be anything but ugly waitresses, but an even hotter one showed up. I couldn't believe how attractive she was. With any luck, I could stalk her Facebook account as well.

My plan was to game her, but two things prevented that. First of all, her boyfriend worked there. He was the cook. You don't want to mess around with cooks. They can either stab you with their many knives, or they could poison your food and make it look like you had a heart attack. Cooks are some of the most dangerous people in the world, if you think about it. That's why there used to be royal tasters. Well, we don't have any royal tasters anymore, so if the United Coalition of Cooks decides to band together and poison everyone, there's nothing anyone can do about it. Ninety percent of the world's population will be gone in an instant.

Even if her boyfriend wasn't a cook, a second problem persisted. A fat lady (the manager) wanted me for herself.

I was shocked to see the new manager of this diner. It was a monstrously built woman I had known eight years ago when I was working another job. She was the most vile, disgusting people I've ever met; not just in terms of her looks, but personality-wise too. She did some really evil things and was just miserable to be around. Worst of all, she threw herself at most of the married men in the establishment. She all but gave money to suck on a police officer's wang in the parking lot. Like I said, she was disgusting.

Time has not been kind to her. Now in her late 40s, she's even more hideous; in addition to being humongous, she's also bent over like the Hunchback of Dame. We did not say goodbye to each other when I quit that job on the best of terms, so I thought she would kick me out of the diner. It's safe to say that I was shocked when she greeted me with open arms. Literally.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner couldn't keep her hands off me. She rubbed my bicep and shoulder, and said things like, "NOM NOM NOM YOU LOOK SO BIG SINCE LAST TIME ME SEE YOU NOM NOM NOM."

After my friends and I ordered, the Hunchback of Notre Diner went toward the back and had a conversation with the new hot waitress. They looked in my direction a couple of times, so I think they were talking about me. Here's how I imagine the conversation went down:

Hot Waitress: Who's that cute guy over there? I don't know what it is, but I have the sudden urge to throw him into the back closet and take advantage of him.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner: NO NO NO YOU WILL NOT TOUCH THAT MAN!

Hot Waitress: Why not? He seemed like a nice guy who would enjoy a good rape.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner: THAT GUY ME KNOW BEFORE. YOU NO TOUCH HIM OR ME EAT YOU FOR SEVENTH LUNCH TODAY!

Hot Waitress: You can't claim him! Just because you've known him longer doesn't mean that I can't do naughty, naughty things to him.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner: ME CAN DO AS ME PLEASE! ME WANT TO SUCK ON HIS PEE-PEE IN PARKING LOT WHILE TAKE BREAKS AND EAT HOAGIE IN BETWEEN. ONE MINUTE SUCK. ONE MINUTE HOAGIE. ONE MINUTE SUCK. ONE MINUTE HOAGIE. RINSE. REPEAT.

Hot Waitress: That's disgusting. He would never want you.

The Hunchback of Notre Diner: SAY ONE MORE WORD AND IT WILL BE YOUR LAST!

Hot Waitress: But...

The Hunchback of Notre Diner: ME WARN YOU! NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!

Did I say that cooks are the most dangerous people in the world? I was wrong. As you can clearly see, fat ladies are. Harris, I hope you're reading this.