Say what you need to say

A few things I’ve had on my mind:

1) This is the face I have got. I did not have much say in the matter. While distributing awesomeness, this is what the good lord believed I deserve. My parents are not super-models. Quite the contrary in fact. Being in this bloodline comes with an over-dose of ‘plump’ and ‘short’. So for heavens sake, stop making fun of the way I look. If you have an issue with it, take it up with the big guy in the sky. He must have given my face to Brad Pitt. This is the best my parents could do with available genes. While this mug isn’t making it to the cover of GQ magazine or anything of the sort, it is still fairly pleasant.

2) Yes. I am fat. I know it. So please, stop being Captain Obvious and pointing it out to me. All us, heavier people know we are fat. None of us are fooled into thinking we are fit to be either Gladrags models or in the Pirelli calendar. Some of us just have really messed up hormones, so not our fault. There are some like yours truly who are fat plainly because we enjoy food. But, even when I was at my lowest recorded weight and waist size, I was still larger than most people. So, for heavens sake, please stop pointing out the fact that we are fat and that we should eat less and exercise more. Thanks but no thanks. You stupid thin people can go burn in hell, at least we ‘fat’ people would roast evenly. So stop telling me how much I ought to eat, or what I ought not to eat. When I start paying you to be my dietician, then you can give me advice.

3) There is nothing wrong with being a guy and owning ‘hair-loss’ therapy oil. Yes, I am unfortunately aging and my long locks seem to abandoning me. I guess it is a trade off for wisdom in old age. What remains is starting to grey, and not in the sense that it would make me look like George Clooney. I am doing what it takes to hang on to what remains of my gorgeous hair. So thanks for the optimism when telling me that the therapy won’t work. Am sure you went out and bought a bottle yourself and are using it in a terribly clandestine fashion. So, please. Spare me the whole ‘I will have awesome hair forever’ charade.

4) I do suffer from OCD and I do enjoy living in a clean and organized room. There is nothing gay about it. Beats living in a darn pig-sty. There is something pleasing about walking into a well-organized room that is clean, bed made up, clothes put away and everything in place. And there is no such thing as – only girls must have clean rooms. Please excuse the fact that I have evolved from my natural barbarian caveman tendencies, but I just can’t live in a dirty room. Besides, I am sure if my mom took a look, she’d find a hundred things that were dirty about my room, and would probably weep all night if she saw your room. (PS: My mom does not have OCD but believes in living in a tidy world….my house always smells nice). Kindly refer to point 2 before calling me a faggot...I can sit on your head and make your cranium implode.