Holy Hot Messes! - 4mer Fattys' Fly Fashions

Screw you, Sean Penn.  I sooo called dibbs on the Winona Ryder costume this year!

     Hope you're sitting down, folks... cuz it's time for a weekly dose of hot messes.  I decided since it's a random skinny week, that I'd try and tug at the heartstrings to see if I can't bring back some shambles the faux-skinny I'm feeling has erased.  So jump on in there like a good little hobag and see what earns this weeks' coveted designation as the people, place, and thing most hot mess...

PERSON:  Former Fatties

And the next American Idol is... Buried somewhere beneath the fat

     From one current former fatty to the next, I humbly admit that our post-lard asses are a hot squealing pile of mess.  It doesn't matter how skinny we get after puberty kicks in, we're still gonna be haunted by the nightmare that was us way fat when.  Every cheeseburger, every milkshake, hell every arugula salad with balsamic vinaigrette is gonna make us think back to the years of braces and fat camp that led our newly emaciated bodies to this Taco Bell drive-thru at 9 in the morning (not that I've done that or anything).

     Do you think Lindsay Lohan isn't haunted everyday by the fact that she used to look like a human?  Cuz she is.  Is it so hard to believe that every time Haley Joel Osment looks into a magazine he remembers that he used to be cute(ish) and relevant thus bringing forth tears to rape his eyeballs?  Cuz he does.  And finally, Is it a stretch to assume that while Michael Jackson was still alive he felt a gaping hole inside him every time he saw a black man perform on stage with his brothers?  (too soon?)... Hell to the yes these peeps are haunted by their past and what they used to be, so why would you think former fatties wouldn't be too?

     As the rules of Fat Club so voluptuously state: "Embrace the fat, it's a part of you... and it can't be stopped so DON'T put down that bagel!"  We can't run from who we were anymore than "who we were" could even run... so the next time you look in the mirror and wish you were a vampire so you didn't have to stare at that hideous reflection... remember, at least now there's half less of you than there was in seventh grade.  Embrace the fat that once filled your cheeks and now fills your tummy, ass, and thighs because if you don't, you might end up more than a hot mess; you'll become the inevitable train wreck that befalls all those who don't embrace what they once were... and I'd rather be fat and Shambled than Amy Winehouse's colostomy bag.

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PLACE:  Airports

Gurl I know... That bitch's blazer is atrocious

      Ugh, shambles shambles shambles.  I like airports about as much as I like fat-free dressing and sugarless cookies... but unless your last name is "Trump" or you're sleeping with someone who's last name is "Trump", we all gotta deal with this hot mess of a location from time to time.

     Don't get me wrong, it's cool and all that we can fly all over the world if we want without question as long as we pay for a ticket (unless your skin is any color other than white and you might run in to some trouble... racism shambles) but I am not a fan of these cesspools of emotion.

     Not only do I have to fight back series finale sized tears seeing people sob and say goodbye or hello to a loved one, but there's also the crazy airport smells of death, terrible outfits of the employees, and angry people getting molested by other angry people at security.  Lissy up federal regulations people, I'm all for seeing people naked and getting felt up in public by randos, but this new body scan thing is creepy and shows far too many fat rolls that (when covered) are masked by my Ross Dress for Less t-shirt and always nomming middle roll of death.  

     Lissy up too, sassy black lady security guard.  I'd for real love to sit here and talk about last night's Girlfriends but I'm in a rush, and if I wanna be molested I'll follow some senator in the bathroom with a wide stance.  And don't even get me started on the actual flight not made for fat people slash seemingly endless in it's supply of sneezing people with stank nastay chillens.  I swear it's like you guys put a permanent reservation next to my name for "always seat by Octomom"... or something.  But I digress.

     The food in the airport is gross.  I swear, no matter what that sign says that is NOT Applebee's okay?  And all the hot DILFy business douchebags with the cell phones and ipod toting pre-gays looking at you with judgy eyes... y'all can take a hike too.  
     Now I'm sorry, kind Shambler or Shamblette if you're a pilot or love the airport as much as Tom Hanks and friends in The Terminal... but the terror-magnets known as Airports are just too murch for my bacon wrapped heart to take.  

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THING:  Pajama Jeans

Those tits: hot mess approved... That ensemble:  just a hot mess

     I love a good hot mess fashion that pries on your insecurities by raping your wallet-holding back pocket, and if you like a good old fashioned ass raping too, these lovelies are for you... cuz they're hotter than my mid-afternoon post lunch pre dinner-snack snack. As the commercial suggests, who doesn't love pajamas, but also hates how jeans cut into your gut?  Well now there's a new atrocious fashion on the block that solves the major earth shattering problem of comfortable jeans that aren't comfortable which also comes in 8 sizes from Fionna Apple to Adrian Grenadine!  Not only that, but if you order in the next 30 minutes, they'll send you an equally hideous gray-t that you didn't want to begin with and only looks good on those who use their rib cages and abs to keep them from falling over!
     Note my sarcasm, hobags... but also know that these things kinda look ghetto fab in their own hot mess way (but don't mistake them for the equally bulge defining junderwear).  I can't slash won't ever rock them cuz they're made for ladies, but that hasn't stopped less horizontally-challenged-more-bulge-happy guys before.  So give these hot messes a shot, ladies... because they seem practical right?  Well I'm sure the Thigh Master seemed practical too and we see how all of those got lost in Suzanne Sommers' toned cooch of death.  
     So if you're gonna be busted as hell and rock the hot mess look known as "stank bitch in pajama pants", at least be woman enough to get ghetto fab classy with it and rock the ones that double as jeans... because anything less is just a hot ass mess.
     Peep the steaming pile of mess 2 minute spot on this shit below (that I WISH had equally atrocious dialogue too but whatev).  And don't forget to hurry, this offer of shame won't last long! 

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