Meet Paul Mason. Paul used to be the world’s fattest man. He’s not anymore, but he’s still fat enough for me to look at this photo and think, “Where’s Paul in this picture? I only see a large beanbag chair sitting on top of a bigger chair. This isn’t a picture of Paul. This is just chairs.”
Paul is suing Britain’s National Health Service for sending him to a dietitian and not an eating disorder specialist; thus, he believes, the NHS is directly responsible for his continued outwardly expanding growth. In other words, he is suing the NHS for making people like me think pictures of him are actually just pictures of chairs that have been stacked upon one-another.
Obviously, Paul is a moron. He should really be suing whatever nebulous factors that caused him to fill the hole in his soul with cakes. Coincidentally, it is because of this attempt to fill the holes in his soul that prevents Paul from moving through most of the holes people pass though on a daily basis, like doorways and mountain-side tunnels. So there really isn’t a whole lot to say on the matter of Paul and his anger with NHS. But what there is a lot to talk about is this…
No, not that…
…warmer, but not that…
…yeah, that…WHAT IN THE HOLY F*CK IS THAT?!
It looks like an uncooked turkey birthing another uncooked turkey.
It looks like Kilroy’s nose.
If you flip it to the side, it looks like a faceless department store mannequin dressed as the Michelin man is tossing his arms in the air victoriously.
It looks like he’s sitting on another fat guy.
It looks like he injected Twinkie filling in to his testicles.
It looks like he’s so fat his body is beginning to grow a second fat man to balance out the load.
It looks like he’s sitting on a giant flesh-colored computer mouse.
Whatever that thing is, it’s ridiculous. How that particular section of the body can become so large that is appears to become its own separate entity, independent from the laws that govern the rest of the body, is beyond us.
Paul, you are a true wonder.