Today, America is facing an unprecedented crisis, and what’s at stake is nothing less than the health of our children, and with it, the future of our country. As long as I serve this nation as first lady, I will bring as much attention as possible to childhood obesity, because I truly believe that if we don’t work together and devote more resources toward solving this problem, today’s overweight toddlers will become tomorrow’s fat fucks.
Imagine, a nation of fat fucks. It saddens me to even think about it.
The statistics are sobering: One-third of American children are overweight or obese, which means that, if this trend is not reversed, one in three will develop into fat fucks. Pediatricians tell us they’re now seeing kids with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, even type 2 diabetes—a disease once found only in fat-fuck adults.
Worst of all, the current generation may live shorter lives than its parents due to the health risks associated with being a lard-ass.
But numbers never tell the story the way an individual can. That’s why I’ve been traveling across the nation, talking with parents and educators, and, more importantly, seeing for myself some of these kids most at risk of turning into colossal tubs of shit.
The other day I visited a class of fourth- graders in Nebraska. When the bell rang for recess, a group of tubby boys made a dash for the door, their doughy man-titties flapping every which way. Were they excited to head outdoors for fresh air and exercise? No, they ran straight for the snack machines, and winded though they were, those chubsters polished off a dozen Ho-Ho’s in no time flat, stuffing their mouths faster than kids I’ve met in Haitian refugee camps.
Later, I got the chance to speak with a beautiful young girl whose bulbous waddle conjured the familiar sound of kettledrums: BOM-Bom! BOM-Bom! BOM-Bom! I took her pudgy hand, looked her in the eyes, and asked, “Sweetheart, do you want to grow up to be a fat fuck like your fat-fuck mom?”
When she started crying, I knew my message had gotten through.
Thirty years ago, things were different. Maybe one blubbo here or there would come back from summer vacation bursting at the seams. Or a slender young woman would leave for college, lose control of her diet, and quickly spiral into a blue-ribbon sow.
But if no one teaches today’s toddlers that they don’t have to sidle up to the feed trough every five seconds, we’ll soon have an entire generation of roly-poly fucking butter beans on every bed in every goddamn hospital.
Now, some may say it’s all too easy for the first lady of the United States to sound the fat-fuck alarm; after all, the White House has its own chef. But just a few years ago, my daughters’ doctor told me I might want to consider making some changes. And that got me thinking: “You know what, Michelle? She’s right. You don’t want your girls turning into a pair of fat fucking beefsteaks.”
It’s this kind of mindset, along with health-education initiatives and improved school-lunch programs, that will help our country end its fat-fuck epidemic for good.
But we must act quickly, not only for our children, but also for the sake of national security. Right now, being a disgusting, greasy fat fuck is the No. 1 reason recruits are rejected from the U.S. military. If America is to maintain its strategic advantage, we parents will have to start doing more than throwing our little chunks in front of the Xbox and hoping the visual stimulation will be enough to jump-start their triglyceride-encrusted hearts.
While we might not get there during my husband’s presidency, I believe that, together, we can put an end to fat fuckdom by 2020. But it’s going to take the efforts of everyone— government, businesses, families sitting down to dinner—to purge our nation of its wide-load, flabby-assed porkers and make a genuine difference in our kids’ lives.
I wish I could do it all myself, but if I have to teach another group of sweaty, wheezing fat fucks how to plant an organic vegetable garden, I swear to God I’m going to fucking puke.
