The definitive guide to getting fat… with grace!
They say “slow is smooth, and smooth is fast”, but getting fat is not these things. Getting fat is lumpy and lumbering. Getting fat is an agonizing crawl towards complacent irrelevance. You can only get so skinny, but when your sole purpose in life revolves around consuming food & booze, there’s really no ceiling on how fat you can get.
I should know -- I’ve seen me do it. In my short life, I’ve made the journey from six-pack abs, to flirtatiously curvy, to “yes, I’m swimming in a T-shirt, but just to prevent sunburn”. Along the way, I’ve learned that nothing will stop you unless you stop yourself, but no matter how many ounces of willpower you muster, there’re exponentially more ounces of beef & beer to devour.
Gluttony is a skillful temptress.
But as I always say: Don’t despair -- devour!* Fatten thyself at the aioli altar. Bite headlong the chili-cheese dog of life. After all, the only thing that tastes better than restraint, is everything.
Before you stuff your maw with ALL THE BURRITOS, there’s one single maxim you must know: Any old slob can get fat. But only a legendary lardist can get fat… with grace.
In that cholesterol-choked vein, I present to you Thrillist’s Guide To Getting Fat... with Grace. This handy tutorial is packed with all the tips, tricks, and trans fats you’ll need to expand elegantly, gleaned from years of personal experience and several Wikipedia articles about cheese. It will help you cultivate mass without looking like ass. It is the Val Kilmer of obesity epics.
This guide will set you -- and your waistline -- free.
Appalled? Come tussle in the comments, where I will deride you for fat-shaming and upload selfies from the 24-hour dim-sum restaurant from which I file my copy.
*I have never said this.
Eat like a horse (that eats meat); drink like a fish (that drinks beer)To grow gracefully, you’ll need a mouth, several credit cards, and, most importantly, a reckless abandon for your body, mind, and soul (probably). Commitment is key. A figure skater doesn’t “hold back” when going for the triple-axel, so neither should you, when going for another lobster. Follow these guidelines to maintain charge over your large.
Food: First of all, “lots of it”. Conscientious objection suggests you aren’t confident about your girth -- not graceful. So don’t do that. Salads are off limits unless they’re slathered in your close friend & trusted advisor: blue cheese. Fish had better be panko-crusted, beer-battered, or awash in butter. Superfoods are super stupid when you’re an all-consuming orc.
Super smart: Deep-fry everything, unless it’s covered & smothered. Actually, then too. Eating other people’s leftovers is NOT elegant -- so make sure they’re not looking before you do it.
Drink: Repeat after me: Wine is silly, cocktails are unsubstantial. Did you repeat it? Good. Nothing pairs better with corpus maximus than craft beer. Hearty & heavy, microbrews will give you the calories you need, and the diversity to rationalize your scholastic pursuit of it. Study hard, and you’ll be more than just another IPA-guzzling, sweatpants-wearing Hodor/Hagrid hybrid. You’ll be a classy beer expert carrying around valuable research. In your gut.
Always take the elevatorNever forget, my fellow lumps, that there’s a component of “effortlessness” baked* into “gracefulness”. As such, trying too hard -- at anything! -- endangers the largesse of your largeness. Ravaged for years by torrid affairs with chicken Parmesan and the donut, I sound like an anxious rhinoceros when I climb stairs. So you know what? I don’t. I let technology hoist me into the heavens, be it by escalator, elevator, or trusty pulley. No puffing, wheezing, or life-reevaluating necessary. Yes, this is a real thing that I do. But it's also a metaphor, friends. If there's an easier way, use it. Always take the elevator.
*This isn’t to say there are baked goods available: It’s just a figure of speech. Stay focused.
Dress like you’re on maternity leaveSpeaking of sweatpants: Wear them a lot, but not all the time. What they offer in comfort, they lack in sophistication. I regret to inform you that there will be days for “real person” clothes. When those fateful instances inevitably arrive, remember this name: Lane Bryant.
Learn from the patron saint of proud pregnant women everywhere, and start buying apparel designed especially to covertly cover your never-ending truffle oil trimester. I’m talking elastic-waistband pleated khakis. Orthopedic insoles. Those button-down shirts that come with OTHER SHIRTS sewn into them. Don’t just dress like Lane Bryant; become Lane Bryant. When you’re eating for two (or three or four or just, like, an entire dinner party), your comfort is key.
On a separate note, fedoras are an excellent way to draw attention away from your flabby frontal and towards your fun-loving personality. BONUS: carry a harmonica for a chance at being mistaken for John Popper!
*No matter what the maitre d’ tells you, bowling/Hawaiian shirts are DEFINITELY “real” clothes.
Get into cookingFoodies: insufferable. Oversized cooks: passionate. There's an entire movie about this very truth. Use it to your advantage. You know what sounds more tasteful than "weight problem"?
Time for some tough love, my nacho muchachos. When you're too big to fail, you become a target for blame. It's disgusting, but that's the world we live in. Smells like microwaved gym shorts in here? Probably the big guy. No more pork rinds? Sure, let's just assume it was Larry II Large. It probably wasn't you, Larry, but now for the tough love: sometimes, it will be.
Deny your farts
That's life. Life is just a big group of strangers farting on each other, then finding chubbers to scapegoat. I've been wrongly indicted for innumerable flatulence, so when I truly have dealt it, I do what any self-respecting husker should: lie. Cheat. Misdirect. I deny that fart until it stops smelling or my accusers faint, whichever comes first. There's no shame in passing blame, dammit. Not when you're trying to get fat with grace.