Amid the heavier news of plunging stock markets, the report of the wedding of Manuel Uribe, the world's fattest man, came as light relief. But stories of these morbidly obese gargantuan eaters confined to bed always make me wonder about the role of their family. When the fatty first decides to stay in bed and asks for three breakfasts and a bedpan, why don't they just say, "Get up and get it yourself, you lazy bugger"? Wouldn't it save an awful lot of trouble?
For Uribe, there may be a better life ahead. Maintained on a strict diet by his new wife, he has already shed 250 of his previous 560 kilograms, and may in time be able to look forward to other pleasures in life than food.
Trying to make sense of a weird world - and maybe make it a little better. If that's not possible, then laugh at it. Those with shorter attention spans may enjoy us on Twitter at Private Pebble.
3 comments:
It is impossible to read this post without certain unwelcome images coming to mind. Thanks!
You're welcome!
There was a story in the UK recently about a fatty who went to the loo one day and never came out.
Her arse had got stuck to the seat.
Her boyfriend spent the next TWO YEARS bringing her food and drinks, as she was too embarrassed to call for help. So she just sat and shat and got bigger and bigger.
(This reads like a fable, doesn't it?)
He eventually sort help after she became ill.
The paramedics had to remove her with the loo seat now firmly grown into her flesh.
I have no idea what the rest of her family were doing at the time.
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