Wow, No Thank You.

by Samantha Irby

The crime isn’t bailing on the night. The crime is bailing on the night after hair has been shampooed and meticulously styled and Spanx have been squeezed into. If I’ve put on a real bra and you pick up the phone to tell me some shit about a headache, I’ll meet you at the club with some Excedrin, bitch.

What the fuck, and also, BITCH, YIKES.

A handy trick is to think long and hard about what the person who hates you would realistically add to your life if they were to actually be a part of it. Most people really do have absolutely nothing to offer you.

but I do think it’s worth examining what you actually want while being honest about what is important to you. Then it won’t feel like such a compromise, you know?

On top of that, it’s totally unfair to make a flesh-and-bone person compete against an imaginary ideal that was imprinted on you when you were too young to understand what was happening.

I could’ve lain awake every night waiting for Mufasa to save me from a wildebeest stampede in a gorge, but do I climb into bed next to a fucking lion? No, bitch, because I am realistic. Instead, I married this person who makes her own kombucha and charges her crystals under the new moon. Girl, adapt!

“see when you do clownery, the clown comes back to bite”*

Samantha Irby, if you don’t shut the actual fuck up!

A crowd gathered as I put on my best show to convince her telepathically to beg me to hang out sometime,

One of the things that I keep telling myself, over and over again like a mantra, is “people already know what your body looks like, so you don’t have to try anymore.”

I don’t need these young, impressionable people out in the world quoting Mike Epps’s stand-up and saying “bitch” all the time, which are two things I very much enjoy doing, especially while talking on the phone to all my old bitches back home.

I immediately started doing the one thing I’m best at: making a mental list of all the reasons a thing that has just been suggested to me absolutely will not work.

Tess Holliday is on the cover of a widely distributed magazine with her back fat out and then it’s like, HELL YES, BITCH. SHE HAS THIGHS LIKE ME, OPEN UP MY LARGEST VEIN AND INJECT THESE IMAGES DIRECTLY INTO IT.

Frankly, America needs more moments like that. More fat people, yes, doing normal stuff that isn’t “dieting” or “being sad.”

But also, more young fat women deserve to look at a mirror image of themselves on a television screen (I know, I know, the youths watch TV on their computers) without the attached self-loathing and parroting of diet culture that we’re used to.

I’m not ~extremely online~ even now, you know? I had to google that one SpongeBob meme because I aM oFtEn LaTe To ThE PaRtY.