I have a problem. I work in the fitness industry. I have fat staff who are to be role models to young people in schools and the community, demonstrating how to live, look and be active.
It is not politically correct for me to say they are poor examples. Our firm cannot dismiss them for it. Yet their bodies are telling children to stuff themselves to excess; it is OK to look this way.
It is politically correct, however, to have an overweight population that is forcing our ambulance services to carry stronger stretchers, often have to call for back-up to move patients out of homes, and extend our insufferable hospital waiting lists from Broome to Bondi.
I questioned a friend about how our mutual acquaintance Nanna was getting along — the dear old queer must be 65 if she’s a day, and has more fags in her mouth every hour than I have had in my whole life.
“The fumes of the pit that is bottomless will arise from her coffin long before they ever get it into the oven,” I was told when I asked if she still chain-smoked.
Our visible, external body fat will just keep us warm. The thick syrup in our arteries will kill us much sooner! The fag we suck on and excuse ourselves with one lie or another is killing us.
Of course you will want me at your hospital bedside; sorry, can’t make it, I’ve got a game. You made your bed, put the wheels on it; now enjoy, really enjoy lying in it.
Don’t worry about an ageing population. Australians are eating themselves to death. I’m supposed to feel sorry for them. I’m told I’m a fanatic, lunatic or any one of a number of blessed titles.
“Everybody thickens up when they get older. It’s just the way it goes,” my partner says. Actually, people thicken up as they age because they are lazy, don’t move enough and stuff themselves.
I can’t make you stop, think or change what you are doing. That ball is totally in your Calvin’s. The motivation must come from within. Look in the mirror and see if you are honestly thrilled by the angelic being staring back at you.
Why not drag someone out to play in one of Team Sydney’s member clubs — and do something that is politically correct: live long enough to be a pain in the governmental arse of the day, use up some taxpayers’ dollars from the final few billion in the national pension coffers, and do it with a smile, enjoying life, freedom, and homo sapiens’ purpose: to move. You may even make some real friends along the way!

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