5-11, 300. 5-4, 250. A quarterback hollering signals at the scrimmage line? A numbers runner calling in his bets? Minister Louis Farrakhan, chanting?
The percentage of Americans more than 100 pounds overweight, classified as severely obese, jumped by 70%, almost doubled from 2000 to 2010, according to a new study.
The RAND Corp., a nonprofit focused on policy research, said in a study released Monday it found the proportion of Americans who were severely obese rose from 3.9% to 6.6% over the decade…..As an example, a man who stands 5’11” would have to weigh 300 pounds to be classified as severely obese. A 5’4″ woman would be 250 pounds.
According to the report, the trend affects all genders and ethnicities….But severe obesity was 50% higher among women than among men, the study found. And, it was twice as high among blacks, when compared to Hispanics or whites. — philly.com
(See that? “All genders.” All, as in two. Unless there’s something really different about fat people I don’t know about.)
Rest assured that even as this report leaks out there are armies of self-declared experts offering their professional services (at inflated third-party reimbursement rates) to combat the mental disorder suffered by the avoirdupoisdically challenged. (Go ahead, Google it. Thanks to a mysterious blogger, it’s world famous, yo.) Because there’s money to be made between bites and swallows, and your average American over-eater prefers to think of himself or herself as a helpless victim than a willing glutton. It’s the American Forkin’ Way.
Evidently food is the new tobacco. Ubiquitous. Addictive. Socially accepted, even mandated. You can’t have a meeting, a date, or a even private personal conversation without a sugary drink or a plateful of globby edible fat in the offing. Foodies, eyes rolled back into their heads and tongues wagging like puppy tails, mewling over 4-hour, 9-course meals (a different wine with each, of course). All the while contributing to a very bad and unhealthy practice. Such fun.
On the positive side, they quickly grow ugly and die young, leaving us the parking spaces.
Like smokers, they wouldn’t bother me at all if they kept it away from our common space, but they don’t. They can’t. We share the same seats at theaters, waiting rooms, and airplanes. We need to get past one another in aisles and on sidewalks. Ultimately, like smokers, their health care will cost the rest of us proportionately more money — pound for pound they’re a bad investment and cost-inefficient.
All because they won’t — don’t give me can’t: that’s a very small percentage — drop their knives and forks, push back from the table, or mix a salad in once in a while. Hold the bleu cheese.
I guess it stops at some point, but I thought the same about tattoos and that hideous practice of self-mutilating defacement shows no sign of slowing. So I’m prepared to watch Americans grow bigger and bigger until they split at the seams and get carted off to landfills instead of cemeteries. Maybe we can use them as artificial reefs. Or burn their blubber for heating fuel.
Lard have mercy.