My New Year's Speech, Inspired by General George S. Patton

Fascinating stuff here. I thought some of you ladies might need some encouragement in beginning this decade, and who better to inspire you than me? My words to you would be very similar to George S. Patton's famous "Blood and Guts" speech delivered to the third army on June 5^th 1944. I call it my "Porkers Unite" speech. Listen up!

"Be seated.

Ladies, this stuff that some sources sling around about America's women wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullsh*t. American women love to fight, traditionally. All real American women love the sting and clash of battle. You are here today for three reasons. First, you are here to stick your broad beams in the face of every skinny *ssed health nut in this great country. Second, you are here for your own self-respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real women and all real women like to fight.

When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the stick sized models, the "Twiggy" look, the beauty queens, the big league Barbie Dolls, and the All-American Miss America, size zero. But life has changed you, and your American fashion values. You demand respect. You crave acceptance, and you will have it. Take back your dignity. Be proud of your humps, bumps, and rolls. Renoir and Mr. Winfrey love fat women!

Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser, especially "The Biggest Loser". Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a woman who lost and laughed. That's why American women have seldom lost nor will ever lose a pound; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an
American.

You are not all going to die from fat. You might get hit by a bus instead. Only two percent of you right here today would die from a Twinkie overdose. Fat must not be feared. Fat, in time, comes to all women. Yes, every woman is scared to stand up for fat. If she says she's not, she's a liar. Some women are cowards but they fight the same as the brave women or they get that pepperoni pizza snagged out of their fat fists while watching women fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the woman who stands up and says NO to "fat free" even though she is scared. Some women get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real woman will never let the outwardly imposed fear of fat overpower her honor, her sense of fashion, or her triple chocolate bash cake drizzled with vanilla rum cream sauce.

Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. My women don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any woman under my command dieting unless she has been hit with a cholesterol level of 300, or cannot fit in two paid in full airplane seats. Even if you are under two hundred pounds, you can still fight back. That's not just bullsh*t either.

War is a nasty business. You've got to spill their health food energy drink, or they will spill your calorie and sugar ridden coca cola and chocolate milkshakes! Rip them up the washboard belly with your razor sharp sirloin steak knife. Shoot them in their skinny guts with rice cakes and broccoli. When no-fat sundaes are splattering all around you and you wipe the imitation whipped cream off your face and realize that instead of imitation whipped cream it's the real whipped cream of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!

There is one great thing that you women will all be able to say after this war is over and you are again the size of my tank, Big Bertha. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are spread out by the fireplace with your 300 pound nine year old grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great Fat Free War, you WON'T have to cough, wheeze and grab your chest, unsuccessfully try to shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Grandmammy went on a diet.'

No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Honey pie, your Grandmammy ate chicken fried in lard and rode with the Great Tub-o-Sh*t Army and a G*dd*mned-B*tch named Nancy! Now, grab those size 3XXX sweatpants and move it! Porkers Unite!

That is all."

Source: http://www.geoffmetcalf.com/patton_20010914.html

To read more from this fed up porker click here