Growing up as a young child, you’re always told to encircle yourself with individuals that make you a better person. Individuals that are there to lift your spirits in time of need. We all have that particular group of friends that have shackled themselves into your life with no chance of escape. Unfortunately for my case there is about 8 gruesome people I call friends. Of these 8 bohemians, my role has been cemented as “The Fluffy One.” Call it what you will; overweight, obtuse, fat, big boned, plump portly, larger than advertised (and I don’t mean below the waist).

Keep on snickering but you should know, my mother reminds me once a quarter I am losing weight.  Sure, there may be a vast bubble of negativity that stems from being the “fat friend” if you spoke to say, a cardiologist. However, from my perspective, I’ve hit the f****ng lottery. When your “skinny” friends need help finishing their meal, who do you think they call? Me bitches. I receive “I know you like to eat” invites multiple times a week. Eating competition coming up? You’re damn right my phone number gets a jingle.

With all these perks comes diabetes, pant buttons popping, pants ripping and the occasional snicker from the Tri Delta table. The burden sometimes weighs heavily on my shoulders, but this is the lifestyle I chose. You see, naturally I am a 5’11 chiseled gladiators ready to defend Mother Greece. However, to keep the balance of my friends in store, I have been forced to eat 5 square meals a day   to sustain natural balance in my group of degenerates. Sure, buffalo chicken Sammy’s with extra creamy ranch followed up with a side of curly fries is delightful. However, I would much rather be plunging my fork into a salad all the while starving myself to keep in line with the KETO cult. Like a curious bee looking to other flowers for nectar, I sometimes get curious about the healthy lifestyle. Thank God I have the friends that I have to bring me back to reality to continue being the obtuse monster they created. No, I can’t always count on a naked female slumbering in my bed. You know what I can count on? That extra cookie being left out for me because someone is just dying to make a fat joke when I aggressively grab it with my sausage fingers. Spoiler alert, I’m eating the damn cookie because you all made me this way. I’m eating this  cookie because my mama didn’t raise no quitter. Am I blaming my obesity on my friends? F****ng A right I am. Like anything in life, Being the fat friend of the group comes with pros and cons but I feel blessed. Without my friends, I would just be viewed as another guy with type 2 diabetes. As I write this memoir polishing off my bag of Skinny Pop and slurping down this liter of Cola,  I always come back to the thought, the Diet Starts Tomorrow. Also, we as society are done using the “F” word aka fat. It has now been replaced with ‘Fluffy.” You heard it here first. Carb up Jockeys.


The Beast