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I like fat chicks.

Heavyset gals. Full-figured women. Big-boned babes. Zaftig honeys. Pleasingly plump princesses. Lasses with big asses. I love 'em, I love 'em, God help me, I can't get enough of 'em! There is a name for men like me, and that name is called "fat admirer," or F.A. for short.

As you might guess, the life of an F.A. can be a bitter hell. The fashionable female body shape dictated by our demented society has been a horrific curse and burden upon me since I entered puberty. What a cruel fate to be born an F.A. in this misguided age when women with two-digit weights are considered the epitome of beauty. Everywhere I look, these scrawny, malnourished little girls -- and I choose that word deliberately because they look like girls instead of full-grown women -- are presented as the ultimate standard of female perfection. But bone-thin women just don't do a thing for me.

It really is kind of like being gay, I guess. I know what it's like to have the world wrongly assume what my sexual tastes are, and how it feels to have my desires make me an outcast. But gay people at least have the advantage of our culture largely agreeing with them about what sorts of individuals are physically attractive, whichever gender that may involve. The women I find attractive are deemed the antithesis of beauty, treated like malformed beasts that society must ridicule, ignore and eliminate.

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