Carry On Fatty

A conversation occurred in the pub last night (among the many learned contributors was the Moai) about what to do with the obese. Owing to the venue and the drinks consumed, some of the suggestions were a tad politically incorrect. And some were down right offensive, but the general feeling was the best solution was to lock them in a small room with a toilet and a basin so they could drink and shit, but leave them there locked in for two weeks. Enforced dieting, if you will.

However, no matter how evil and vicious the suggestions got, we never took the ultimate step. No, I am not talking about killing the obese (that was covered off – I believe there was a feeling that they should all be turned into soap) – I am talking about introducing that horrific harridan, *Dr* Gillian McKeith, to the proceedings.

McKeith is the kind of woman I would like to hit in the side of the head with a brick and then stamp on her throat until she confesses that she is a terrible cunt, unworthy of both the gift of life or even the gift of death. Of all the shrill harpies who preach on at prime time, she is the worst. I once wrote a long, rambling (and unpublished) post about how I feel that those people who appear on her programme (“You Are What You Shit” or whatever it is called) would benefit more from Ellis’s Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy rather than being hectored by an arrogant, ignorant gobshite – my argument was that the 30 stone mother of two who eats five chicken dinners a day probably needs therapy more than she needs shrill carping from an unqualified* cunt. But McKeith doesn’t deserve calm rational, argument**. She is a reprehensible, miserable excuse for a barely evolved human being. I would never sign up to a programme like the one she hosts – I believe such programmes are a cancerous growth on our rapidly failing society. But if I did, and she wanted to look at my stool sample, I would be tempted to force her face into it. Except I have a sneaking suspicion, what with her faecal obsession, that she would probably like it. I wonder whether she has met Mark Oaten – they would probably get on like a house on fire.

*Ben Goldacre managed to get his dead cat affiliated to the same body that McKeith claims to be a member of.

**If you want a more detailed, well-researched and less sweary deconstruction of McKeith then take a look here.