And You Call This Art?

"Her belly was bigger than the sun, and when she finally finished all of her food, she almost exploded but just burped loudly instead. The end."

Collette's face twisted into a frown and she hung her head low. She was accustomed to seeing abnormal stories on deviantART, but she could not stomach the one she just read, posted by someone who went by the name "Fatmeister". Collette grumbled as she rolled the wheel of her mouse, scrolling down the page to view what others had to say about what was written. She hoped that others felt the same way that she did.

~finalfantasyr0x April 13th, 2009 3:48:32pm
wow dude that was so hawt!

~DaBellybuster April 13th, 2009 4:01:17pm
biger next tim eplz

~Reynaldo-Astropants April 13th, 2009 4:08:03pm
Boy, do I ever love the part where she almost explodes! I will read all of your stories and favorite them, because you are great!

=Robotozoid April 13th, 2009 4:59:12pm
i did not expect this to be so good you always surprise me keep up the good work

~1337PLAYER1337 April 13th, 2009 6:32:22pm
Splendidly done! Never before has there been such a masterpiece in fiction. Amazing job!

Collette was appalled that the comments did not end there, as several more trailed down with the same accolades. She did not understand how someone who produced three poorly written pages about something as revolting as a woman purposely fattening herself up so much that she almost explodes could get so many positive comments and even more favorites. Her poetry was thoughtful, poignant, and written from the heart and she was lucky to have three or four people favorite them and received one or two comments, most of which came from her friends. Jealousy bent her to vengeance; she had to say something in hopes of preventing such an abomination from taking place again.

~CuteCollette86: 1 second ago
How can people approve of such tasteless, sickening drivel? Why would someone want to read a story where the plot (if you want to call it that) revolves around a woman making herself fat? Obesity is an epidemic, so you should be ashamed of yourself for encouraging this sort of thing! Fat people are gross! I bet you're just some depraved and deprived loser who lives in his mom’s basement and couldn’t even score with a fat chick if your life depended on it. And the people who read this crap, stop encouraging this moron! Get a life, all of you! Disgusting!

Collette felt much better after posting her rant. She did her best to convey her point without lashing out too much – after all, maybe some of the people who read her comment would visit her page and read her writing. Maybe they would enjoy it because it was real and relevant.

Satisfied with herself, she went on check her messages. She had no new favorites or new comments. A friend posted a journal entry about how he doesn’t post enough journal entries. One of the people she watched posted some out of focus photographs of a forest. They looked as though they were taken from a moving vehicle. Collette deleted them and sighed heavily. She was bored with deviantART, as usual, which was why she perused other people’s pages and the sole reason she found that offensive story.

Yet from boredom, a macabre fascination was borne.

She wanted to see what other stories people like Fatmeister wrote. When she visited his page to see if he had other stories posted, her irritation flared up in seeing that he had four times as many pageviews as she did. Frustrated that she added to his undeserving total, Collette quickly clicked on his gallery of favorites.

Her jaw dropped.

There were drawings of scantily clad or outright nude fat women. Some of them were eating, some of them were busting out of their clothes, and some of them looked as though they were being inflated with a bicycle pump. Though the ones that were crudely drawn offended her, it was the selection of drawings that were drawn and colored well that outraged her. She could not wrap her head around the notion of someone wasting their talents on drawing bloated cows instead of something lucrative like comic books or advertisements.

Collette found that almost every artist or writer she looked at had thousands more pageviews than her, and hundreds of comments. There was one who had over a million pageviews, and he exclusively drew women in various stages of fatness. The deeper she delved into the community of chubby chasers, the angrier she became. Collette soon became so fed up with it that she had to post an entry in her journal.

And you call this art?
Wed Apr 15, 2009, 8:22pm

Okay, so I’ve been around on the Internet long enough to see some weird things. I’ve seen furries, I’ve seen hentai, I’ve seen yaoi, and I’ve seen tentacle rape. But today I found possibly the worst – fat fetish art! It’s so gross! People are totally getting off to drawings of fat rolls and fat people exploding and burping and eating and it’s revolting! Fat people are gross! They should keep their clothes on! Nobody wants to look at fats flopping about, and the people that do are sick in the head! Encouraging someone to be unhealthy is wrong! People die from being too fat all the time! We should put people like this in jail, or take away their right to vote! They should be chemically castrated so that the future is guaranteed to belong to people who like normal people, or to fat people who know their place and keep their clothes on!

All of my friends who read this, go to Fatmeister ‘s page and tell him how terrible his fat cow stories are. Then go to all of his friends’ pages and tell them the same thing! Maybe if everyone tells them all how terrible they are, they’ll realize the error of their ways and start writing or drawing normal things. It just sickens me! Sick, sick, sick!

0 Comments

Mood: Steaming
Listening to: Paramore (they’re cheering me up, kind of)
Reading: These icky stories, yuck!
Watching: Naked fat people, gross!
Playing: I should be playing WoW, but I’m not
Eating: Nothing, never again! I don’t want to look like those gross fatties!
Drinking: Just water from now on

Maybe her friends will harass those people, and then maybe they’ll come to her page. She didn’t care if she made those weirdoes mad, but she knew that if they all read her journal and came to her page to defend their perplexing preferences then her pageviews would rise. It was a win-win situation!

Collette toggled between refreshing her journal entry and Fatmeister’s story, waiting for replies about what she wrote. When an hour passed and none came, Collette tried to put the situation out of her mind. She told herself to be patient; she had to have made at least one of those weirdoes pissed. When she decided to load World of Warcraft instead of continuously hitting F5, her e-mail notification prompt appeared in the right-hand corner of the screen.

The address read “noreply@noreply.com” and the subject line read “Regarding your tirade.”  How the e-mail made it past her SPAM filter with such an address boggled her, but her curiosity to read it was overwhelming.

“Dear Collette,

“As a writer of ‘fat cow stories’, I found your remarks to be small-minded and childish. Regardless of whether they spawned from jealousy or cruelty is inconsequential, as your words were nothing more than unnecessarily mean-spirited. How is what you wrote in any different than to comment about how much you have dislike people who are not white when a story features a black protagonist? Would you point and laugh at a small person if you saw him reaching feebly for something out of his reach at a supermarket, or would you aid him? Do you narrow your eyes on someone appearing to be the Middle East, as they are just as likely to be a murderous terrorist as they are a surgeon? Do you use the phrase, ‘That is so gay’ to describe an unfortunate situation, or say ‘That guy is a fag’ to insult someone wronged you?

“Though there are people who take the glorification of plus-sized people to the extreme, it is surely no different than the opposite side of the spectrum. Do you think it is a healthy lifestyle to cope with the pressure runway models and film actresses must endure to stay thin? What about the perfectionist athletes who inject drugs into their system to keep one step ahead of their opponents? Closed-minded bigots like you are the reason why society is corrupt. You, like so many others, have shown your true colors while resting behind the comfortable anonymity of the Internet.

“So to thank you, I wrote a story just for you, Collette. Please be sure to read it from start to finish. I’m sure that it will open your mind in expansive ways.”

The guilt slithering throughout Collette was quickly dissipated by her reasoning that fat people were disgusting. Collette assured herself that they were lazy, smelly, and the reason why children were starving in third-world nations. Homosexuals and midgets couldn’t help the fact that they were how they were like fat people could, so it was completely natural for her to dislike people of size.

Collette refreshed her page and found that her pageviews had not increased. She was puzzled as to how the person obtained her e-mail address without getting it from her main page. Before the quandary lead itself to alarm, Collette saw that she had a new message. In it was a link that was a jumble of random letters and numbers that lead to a text file. The first line read:

“Collette was thin, bitter, and dissatisfied with the inadequate life she led.”

Collette scoffed aloud and closed the webpage. She was not about to allow a stranger to write terrible things about her, and loaded up World of Warcraft. She stared at her character, poised to click on it, but could not. Her interest was piqued; she wanted to see what else that jerk wrote about her.

Collette started from the beginning.

“Collette was scrawny, bitter, and dissatisfied with the inadequate life she led. She took pleasure in spreading her opinions about life to others via the Internet, often in the form of poetic rubbish.”

Collette huffed indignantly.

“Collette was not raised as a closed-minded person, as her parents were both new-age sycophants. She was taught the value of peace and love against violence and hate, but she her peers instilled in her a different set of values. When the popular girls in her middle and high school ridiculed the girls who had developed quicker, or carried extra weight, Collette followed suit. By doing so, she was guaranteed to fit in with the popular girls, and by proxy fit in with everyone else.

“Fulfilling the blonde archetype, she was not intelligent enough to analyze her personality, for if she were she would realize that she was only mean to the larger girls because she was insecure with her own frame. She was rail thin and most boys found her unattractive. As an adult, men still found her narrow hips and bony chest unsightly.

Lonely as she was, Collette spent a good deal of her time surfing the Internet. She found a home for her poorly styled poetry at deviantART. Her self-loathing was at is pinnacle when she realized just as many people cared about her poetry online as they did in real-life – that is to say, not even a handful. Out of boredom and the secret desire to be discovered, Collette traveled from random deviant to random deviant until she happened upon a story featuring a large woman eating copious amounts of food and becoming pounds heavier than she already was. Collette was shocked, and was certain that such a tale would be torn asunder. She was wrong – for the story was well received.

Collette became so enraged that she wrote hateful things about the tale and asked others to do the same. Doing so, she soon realized, was her undoing.”

“My undoing?” Collette said aloud. “How is that my undoing?” She read on.

“Collette received an e-mail telling her to read a story. Little did she know that the story she read was cursing her to become that which she despised. By the time she made it to this point in the story, it was taking effect. Collette felt her midsection…“

Collette felt her midsection…

“… and found it to be laden with fat, soft…”

…like a sponge. Collette shrieked. She lifted up her nightgown and gazed down in surreal, headache-inducing terror at her once flat stomach that was inexplicably bulging outward. She goggled at it, watching it rise and fall with her shallow breaths, and then shrieked again and again. Collette grabbed a handful of doughy flesh and felt the fat squish around under her skin beneath her fingers. She felt a slight pressure against her pinched fingers and felt sick to her stomach with fear – she was getting fatter.

In the span of a few heartbeats, her chest and belly had swelled to an ample enough size to obscure the view of her spreading thighs, which began touching one another. Collette sprang to her feet and fell over from the cumbersomeness of her accumulating mass. When she landed on her backside, she felt her entire body jiggle in a way so alien that she wanted to retch; it gave her an idea.

Collette wobbled her way to her restroom and attempted to induce vomiting into the sink. While she succeeded in nothing other than making her throat sore, it gave her the chance to see an unsettling view of herself in the bathroom mirror.

Her angular face had filled out and drooped with a double chin. Her breasts were ponderous and stretched out the fabric of her nightgown; a nightgown no longer covered the peach-like roundness of her belly. It was pink and rosy and had it been anything but her belly, Collette would have found it pinchable and cute. But it was her belly, and it was growing out in all directions. It swelled upward; it swelled outward; it swelled downward. Its convex shape was marshmallow-soft to the touch and as wide as a pillow. Beneath the belly-flesh that cascaded into over her crotch loomed the voluminous thighs that pressed gently against one another and her hips that flared out like an expanding horizon. Her calves had grown twice their size and then quadruple. Even her dainty toes plumped.

The nightgown size-two nightgown became far too tight around the fat of her back and chest, and Collete struggled to lift it over her head. The flab about her arms jostled in the process, eliciting a whimper of displeasure from her lips. Had she not have decided against wearing panties that evening, she would have had to cut them off of her rotund backside with scissors.

Collette watched her nude, once-waifish frame plump and billow before her eyes as her hands pressed and prodded at the various bits of pudge accumulating about her frame in effort to halt the process. She could barely stand by the time the pounds stopped pounding and the inches stopped inching. The reflection of the woman beyond what one would call obese with tear-stained cheeks staring back at her was unrecognizable. The notion that she had quintupled in size was something from an abstract nightmare, yet the tangible evidence bloated before her. When she stared down, her chins pressed against her soft chest and made her shiver with revulsion, which rippled her fattened form. She had to part her cleavage and press down on her stomach just to see her thighs obscure all but the tips of her toes.

It was too much. She was too much. Something had to be done.

Waddling as quickly as her humongous form would allow, Collette made her way back to her office and wedged her enormous backside between the armrests of her chair. Her belly took up all of her soft lap and her bosom made it difficult for her to reach her keyboard and the loss of dexterity in her adipose fingers made manipulating the mouse difficult. She was passed the point of mortification when she skimmed through the story that mirrored the events of her revolting predicament. She felt ill reading the descriptions of her becoming a human blimp.

“Collette was in a fevered daze and was unable to separate fantasy from reality. Her sudden heaviness left her feeling nauseous and she was dreadfully uncomfortable with the arms of her chair digging into her hips and backside. She began to shift and felt a lance of fear skewer her heart – she was stuck. She rolled forward and back, but she could not get out of the chair. She whimpered frantically as she desperately attempted to wedge her fingers between her fat and her chair to no avail. Realizing how unsuccessful her attempt was, she gave up with a loud huff.”

Her frustration mounted and brought her plummeting back to reality. She tried to close the web page with hexing text, but the “X” in the top right corner refused to work. She utilized the “Alt” and “Tab” keys together to select another window, but that failed as well. She could not get up from her chair and she could not close out of the story. She could only continue reading.

“Resigning herself to her situation, Collette accepted that her only choice was to find out how her story ended. The ending, she would find, was a dilemma.”

“Collette was a vapid person who stuck to the crowd and wanted nothing more than to fit in. For her story to end with her to stay fat would be an eternal torment for her meager, shallow personality. She would never be comfortable with herself under such padding, and at her size she would not have the willpower to exercise. She would never allow in true love because she truly hated herself. She would suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome and refuse contact with anyone who knew that she was once thin. She would stagnate on this mortal coil in a depression that deepened with every unwanted pound she put on from every unwanted binge she went through in effort to take her mind off of what life was like when she was thin.

“For her story to end Collette to become thin again would teach her nothing; she her would merely continue her selfish, close-minded ways. She would seek attention in any fashion she could as she always did, but she would never accept the attention that came with being one of size. Her future was bleak.”

“And so the dilemma arose. To have her wallow in self-pity was too cruel, but to simply end it was too lax. There had to be a middle ground, a satisfactory end for her. She would have to die.”

Collette gasped.

“Her story would have to end in tragedy, as a cautionary tale to those who would revel in schadenfreude of tearing down others to draw attention to oneself. It had to be a fitting demise, and for Collette there was no more fitting of a way to perish than from being ‘too fat’. Collette herself wrote ‘people die from being too fat all the time’ in her journal. From this revelation spawned a second dilemma: how does one die from being too fat?

“To suddenly die of heart failure would perpetuate the stereotype that fat people were susceptible to such ailments due to size alone. Would grow so large that her own fat would asphyxiate her? Would she grow to such titanic proportions that she would simply burst? Would she pop like a balloon into chunks of Collette? Such a happening would be too cruel to the people who had to clean her up. What if she didn’t leave such a mess? What if she popped into confetti instead, like a human ticker-tape parade? Her sudden disappearance could be explained away as though she were kidnapped by clowns.”

The last line melted the icicle of fear that had stabbed her heart. The magical story that wrote out her fate was going to end with her exploding into confetti? Chiding herself for not thinking of doing so sooner, she skipped to the end of the story and read the last sentence.

“It was then, with a train-wreck of a bang, that Collette exploded, strewing confetti throughout every corner of her apartment.”

“That is so gay!” she exclaimed. “I explode into confetti!” While her mind reeled with the preposterous notion, she failed to notice how much larger she had become in the span of a few moments. It was not until the left arm burst from her chair that she saw the globular blob of her stomach lurched into her peripheral vision. She gave a bleating scream and tugged at her hair in futile insanity.

It was in her moment of panic that the idea to use the cell phone on her desk to call for help hit her so unpredictably that she half-expecting a cartoon light bulb to suddenly twinkle into existence over her head.

“911,” a bored-sounding woman muttered, “what is your emergency?”

“Help me, please! I’m becoming so fat that I’m going to explode into confetti!”

Collette’s heavy breathing was met with silence at the other end. The silence lingered for a moment before it was severed with a click – the operator disconnected. Collette squealed in fear and frustration as she hit re-dial.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“It’s me again, please don’t hang up! I’m totally, totally serious! Some stranger sent me a… a story, and it’s making me become fatter and fatter, and the end of the story says I’m going to explode into confetti!”

After such a period of silence passed that Collette feared the woman on the other end hung up, the woman said, “Miss, please spend your free time doing something else other than tying up a line for emergencies only with prank calls otherwise I’m going to have to dispatch an officer to your location and have you arrested. Do you understand?”

“Yes, please dispatch an officer! Please, I’m really in trouble!”

The click on the other end of her cell phone enraged her so much that she hurled her phone across the room to break through the wire screen of her open window and land on the concrete below.

Using the remaining chair arm for leverage, Collette rolled onto her feet and bounced toward the hallway. Collette squeezed into the door jamb and yelped when she found that she was unable to pull herself through. The fat of her hips was malleable enough to allow her to wedge herself into the door frame, but in the seconds that she spent attempting to wriggle through, she had grown larger to where she would no longer pass through. She tugged at frenetically to remove herself from the door frame and succeeded in only getting stuck in further. The pressure of her sides, hips, and buttocks digging into the wood of the door frame was going from annoying to painful quickly. In a sudden act of ingenuity, Collette reared back, lifted up an armful of her belly fat, and dropped it. The sudden shifting of weight did just what she had hopped and pried her from the door jamb. What she did not think ahead to was the momentum causing her to land belly-first on the carpet of her hallway. She shuffled to her knees and attempted to crawl, but her pace was so slow that she was soon batting her knees helplessly against her the bottom of her belly.

Her body burbled and gurgled and creaked and squeaked as her form spilled out and filled out the doorway. She whined and rested her head on her breasts, watching the carpet seem further away as her belly and breasts pushed her higher and higher. It was only a matter of moments before her jiggling rump touched the ceiling. She could feel part of her belly-fat squish its way back into the door frame of her office.

As Collette’s body expanded like a fluffy, fat-filled cumulus cloud, her mind drifted to her past events. Maybe this was for the best. The world would not be better off without her, but it was certainly not changing for the better with her in it. Maybe the landlord would happen upon her confetti remains and sweep it up to ferret away for the perfect opportunities. When his daughter became old enough to become a bride, maybe landlord would throw pieces of Collette at his daughter and new-son-in-law as a proud father? Maybe he would throw handfuls of Collette at the new tenant who moved in to her apartment to celebrate? Or perhaps he would sprinkle it on from the roof of the building onto the heads of unsuspecting passersby, like so much fairy dust.

As her body surged out every which way and emitted alarming creaks, Collette became curious as to when all of her fat would transform. She imagined it was going to happen immediately when her body could contain no more fat. That moment quickly passed, and Collette could feel her body pulse as whatever evil voodoo curse that was causing her to gain weight could cram no more fat into her. It was then, with a train-wreck of a bang, that Collette exploded, strewing confetti throughout every corner of her apartment.

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