Inexplicable Human-Chair Fusion

Today, we have another one of those stories that simply doesn't have any splick. It is, in a word, inexplicable. There's really no other way to describe an incredibly obese man who has sat in the same chair for so long (two years as a matter of fact) that the fabric of said chair had fused to his skin. And even though that is inexplicable, I have another aspect of the story that is even MORE inexplicable. The above mentioned individual had a girlfriend.

Let's go to Channel 7 in Ohio, WTRF, for the facts of this story. (Warning: I know that I made this sound bad with my little introduction above. Trust me. It gets a heck of a lot worse. Consider yourself sufficiently warned.) We have an obese man. Now, the exact weight is not provided for some reason (probably because the media sucks), but let's just say that it had to have been sufficient enough for him to have enough difficulty getting out of his chair that he just decided it would be easier to simply stay put. And considering that this chair did not have proper plumbing facilities, that must have been one hell of a decision to have to make, if you catch my drift.

One of the remarkable aspects of this story (but not more remarkable than someone being fused to a piece of furniture because it's going to be super hard to top that) that needs to be mentioned right now is that "...two other able-bodied people lived there---another man, who had a separate bedroom, and the girlfriend of the man who was stuck in the chair. Officials say the girlfriend served food to him, since he never got up." How...how does that happen? How do you live in a house with a guy who never gets out of his chair...for anything?! Bodily functions did occur! It's not like they're going to stop just because you're too fat to get up anymore. Two years. Keep that in mind. Two years of sitting in two years of your own filth. I think I'm going to hurl. (And just because that imagine wasn't enough, I'm going to mention that "...he was sitting in his own feces and urine and maggots were visible." Oh, God. Now I know I'm going to hurl.)

But it wasn't just that he lived with two able-bodied people that disturbs me. See, it appears that there had been visitors to the home during this two year period of never leaving the chair. "...the landlord says the man in the chair rented from her before and used to be a vital active person." Obviously, the key words in that phrase are "used to be". (The non-key words in that statement are everything else she said. Oh, what's that? He wasn't always fused to a chair? You don't say! Moron.) But it goes on to say that "...she checked on them periodically but lately he always sat with a blanket over him. She says she had no idea it had come to this." She what? And he what? Wait a minute.

Wouldn't the stench from an obese man who had been sitting in his own filth for the past two years simply be overwhelming?! She didn't notice the strong smell of poo emitting from this man?! I'm assuming that it wasn't a magic blanket that he would drape over himself when she came over. Now that I think about it, where would they find a blanket big enough to cover him, the chair and all of the maggots? (God, just typing that makes me gag.) Is there a Snuggie that big? Regardless as to where they shopped, I still don't understand how you wouldn't just be knocked off of your feet by the smell if you were in that house. I kind of don't understand how you wouldn't just be knocked off of your feet by the smell if you were in the vicinity of that house. Two years of fecal matter and urine is a lot of fecal matter and urine. The smell must have been unimaginable. Stinky, but unimaginably stinky.

How does this man have a girlfriend? More importantly, how is this woman's boyfriend the man who is so fat that he hasn't left his chair for two freaking years?! What are her standards?! I mean, obviously they're QUITE low. But seriously? You're dating So-Fat-He's-Stuck-To-His-Chair Guy? Really? I guess taking him to family functions wasn't all that important to you, eh? The more I ponder this, the more depressed I get. A morbidly obese man who has been sitting in his own urine and feces for two years has a girlfriend, yet I, an amazingly mobile woman who has never been fused to a chair, is single. What the what is that about?

I saw this story a couple of days ago and I am saddened, but not surprised, to report that the man who was fused to his chair and sitting in his own waste for two years with a multitude of maggots has died. Is anyone really surprised? I can't say that I am. And I also can't say that he might be better off this way. His quality of life before he was removed from his chair certainly wasn't anything that anyone would strive for. And while I tend to take a rather libertarian approach to these sorts of situations, I'm going to have to say that I'm appalled that the people living with this man didn't take some sort of action before it got to this point. I mean, if you want to eat yourself into oblivion and become incredibly fat, that's your choice. I'm not going to intervene with that one. But I think that at the point where human flesh becomes fused to a piece of furniture, you're under some sort of obligation to do something like make a phone call. And if the person stuck to the chair doesn't like it, they can just unfuse themselves and do something about it. Oh, what's that? They can't move? Because of all of the fusing? Yeah, OK then. Keep dialing.

The Girl Scout Scissor Stabbin' Badge

I think that we can all pretty much agree that Girl Scout cookies are freaking delicious. Just how delicious might be up to personal interpretation, but there isn't much denying that they're delicious. That they come around only once a year can be a bit stressful. You really need to ration your cookies and, more importantly, you really need to be prepared for when they are gone. Because when they are gone, that's it. They're really gone. Therefore, if you were expecting to still have some Girl Scout cookies left and found out that you suddenly had none, that could make an individual rather angry. I don't know if I could justify that it's the stabbing someone sort of angry, but angry none the less.

Let's go down to Flori-duh where this sort of crap seems to always be occurring and see what happened in the case of a one Hersha Howard. (Hersha? All right. I guess.) According to the folks over there at MSNBC, Ms. Howard noticed that her Thin Mints were gone. Eaten, if you will. She then "...confronted her sleeping roommate and accused her of eating the box of treats." Her roommate, a one Jasmin Wanke (Wanke? That's a pretty name.), told her that "... she'd given the cookies to Howard's kids, who were awake and hungry around 1 a.m." Huh. These folks seem to live a very different life than the one I currently live and the one that I grew up living. I'm sure that, as a small child, I was awake on occasion at 1 a.m. I'm also sure that I was never given Thin Mints cookies due to all of the being awake. Yeah, didn't happen. And I'm not sure why it's happening in this scenario, but I can take a guess. (Here's a hint: Responsible parenting does in no way factor into this equation.)

Well, the news of her eaten Thin Mints was apparently a bit too much for Ms. Howard to take. This is when Ms. Howard jumped on top of Ms. Wanke and began pummeling her in the face. Man, there is so much to like about this story! Oh, but wait! Did I mention that Ms. Howard is four hundred pounds? I didn't? I apologize. She's four hundred freaking pounds. It's amazing she could jump on top of anything, let alone a woman sleeping in bed. I've seen folks that appeared to be pushing the four hundred pound mark and they needed a Rascal scooter in order to become ambulatory. So I have to say that I am a little impressed that this big ol' gal was so mobile.

Now, they apparently fought on the bed for a little bit before Wanke's husband pulled Ms. Howard off of her. Wait. He's in the same bed as her and this chick just walks on in and starts asking about cookies? I don't know about you, but I'm thinking I'd prefer the man that I'm sleeping with to stop things a little bit before they got to this point. I'm thinking just a brief, "What are you doing in here?" followed by a short "Get out!" would be sufficient. But he let it get to the point where he had a four hundred pound woman in his bed on top of his wife. If it weren't for the four hundred pounds, it sounds like most guys' fantasy.

Ms. Wanke fled and Ms. Howard took off after her. Again, incredibly mobile for such a behemoth giant woman. She allegedly grabbed a pair of scissors and threatened to kill Ms. Wanke over the now consumed delicious Thin Mints. And like I said, I know that Thin Mints are good. They're really good. But are they scissor stabbin' good? I don't know about that. Then again, I don't know how good I'd really be at stabbing someone. I can barely get that little straw into the Capri Sun.

Ms. Howard chased Ms. Wanke down the stairs. That is when she dropped the scissors and picked up a board of some sort and struck Ms. Wanke with that. What sort of folks are these that they're feeding Thin Mints to their children at 1 a.m. and that they also have random pieces of lumber lying about? I'm also guessing that if a four hundred pound anything hits you with a board, that's going to leave quite a mark.

From there it was into the kitchen (a shocking locale for a four hundred pound individual to end up) where more fighting occurred and the husband had to separate the two of them once more. This husband is getting quite the workout. And to think he was just rudely awakened only moments ago! I don't know that I'd have it in me to do all of that right after I woke up. I'm not a morning person. Granted, this was the middle of the night, but I still wouldn't feel up to all of the running and separating and tackling that was taking place.

Following that separation, Ms. Wanke ran outside and was, naturally, followed by Ms. Howard. This time, Ms. Howard picked up some sort of a sign and wailed on Ms. Wanke with that for a while until she was tackled by Ms. Wanke's husband. That had to have been amusing. Some four hundred pound, completely enraged, cookieless woman, beating down on her roommate with an undefined sign when she is tackled by the "man" of the house. It sounds like a pretty awesome cartoon, actually. I'm picturing something like Foghorn Leghorn getting tackled by that little chick that said he was a chicken hawk. It sounds like it would be just about as effective.

Wow. Clearly as evidenced by the several different pieces of weaponry that this nutjob wielded against the perpetrator of her apparently beloved Thin Mints, this woman definitely has a certain level of enthusiasm for her snacks. It really might be unmatched by any I've heard of up until this point. (And I have a friend who practically covets the Cadbury Mini Eggs. She has them sent to her from out of town if they first appear in cities other than her own. But I don't think that she'd go after someone with a pair of scissors if they took her Cadbury Mini Eggs. She might give them a good hearty shove to get them away; I think I could see that happening pretty easily. But stabbing? Not really.)

Ms. Howard ended up going to jail and being booked. I'm guessing she could be there for a while, as it's entirely possible she could get stuck in that cell. Perhaps during her downtime in the pokey, she might try to learn some new problem solving skills. Maybe even some new negotiation tactics. Hopefully, none of them will involve scissors, boards or outdoor signs. Then again, I'm pretty sure that you can't teach a four hundred pound Thin Mint fanatic new tricks.

You Didn't Search Her Well Enough

It was just a month or so ago that I brought you the charming tale of a couple of super-sized women who were arrested for shoplifting many, many items by concealing the items 'neath their rolls of fat. Oh, and I can tell by the gagging sounds you just emitted that you remember said story all too well. So I guess you'd better brace yourself for this one, as it is quite similar in method to the previous story. I'm still trying to figure out some of the finer points to this story, but maybe you can help me out with some of them. Let's find out!

What we have is a story from the fine folks at CBS Minnesota (that's in Minnesota). It would seem that our "hero", a one Stephanie Moreland, was arrested on New Year's Eve under suspicion of stealing a $6,500 "short mink coat" from the Alaskan Fur Company. Now, when they say a "short mink coat", is that supposed to imply that the coat is not very long or that it was made from rather diminutive minks? I'm not sure, either.

Ms. Moreland was confronted in the store, but denied having taken said coat of mink. When she left the store, the clerk wrote down her license plate number and called police. The police tracked down the car and found a hanger from the store in the car. The article claims that "They searched her for weapons and booked her into their jail for the weekend on theft charges." Uh-huh. Yeah, I'm not quite so sure that she was really "searched'. I'm pretty sure that she was not "searched" sufficiently.

OK, so she's been in jail for a couple of days when "Three days later, a detective interviewed Moreland who admitted she stole the coat but claim she had already sold it." It's unclear to me why she admitted to the theft at that point. Maybe she thought they were going to let her go or something. I don't know, but she had carried on her little scheme to this point, I don't see why she didn't just keep going with it a little bit longer. Wait. What?

That's right. I said "her scheme". You weren't really buying any of that stuff that she was spewing out, were you? Oh, come on! She stole the coat all right. But she didn't sell it. I kind of wish that she had though. That's because (wait for it) "When the investigator informed Moreland he would be sending her to the Hennepin County Jail downtown, he was shocked when she lifted up her dress and pulled out the mink coat from her underwear." Oh. My. God.

Pulled the mink coat from her underwear?! What the what?! How big is this ol' gal again? Let's see...it says that she's 270 pounds. It does not list a height. I'm guessing that if she can conceal an entire mink coat, short or not, inside of her underwear, she can't be more than four feet tall. Good Lord, woman. And it was in there for three days?! How is that possible? What is going on over there at the jail in Minnesota? Clearly whatever it is, it does not involve thorough body searches at all.

The Bloomington Police Commander, a one Mark Stehlik, explained that “She had modified her underwear. She actually cut the rear of the underwear out so that from the back it appeared she was not wearing underwear and then stuffed it down the front.” What does that even mean? Cut out the rear of her underwear? I get that, but what does that have to do with it being able to appear that she's not wearing underwear? How does not appearing to wear underwear from the rear make it so it doesn't appear that you have a $6,500 short mink coat shoved down your front? Why does it matter if someone else thinks that she is wearing underwear or not? Is that some sort of a "thing" in the shoplifting community? I'm so confused. Three days of underwear mink?! (No, that is not a euphemism.) I hope they burned that thing after she pulled it out of...there.

There are really a lot of unanswered questions here. I realize that. But there's only so much I can do. If you know anything about this apparent underwear altering which is seemingly conducive to shoplifting, let me know.

A Feast For A Fatty

Well, well, well. I knew I would hear about Donna Simpson again and I figured that it would be pretty soon, but I just didn't think that it would be in this fashion. I figured the next I hear, she would have been dead as a door nail. But that wasn't the case. Yet. Ms. Simpson, as you may or may not care to remember, is on a quest to become the world's fattest woman. That's right. She wants to be super, duper fat. Her goal is to reach 1,000 pounds. And not only is she is well on her way, but she's a whole heck of a lot closer thanks to her Christmas feast which she enjoyed just the other day.

Ms. Simpson, all five feet, two inches of her, defended what she ate for Christmas dinner by telling The Daily Mail, "'I eat as much as I want, whenever I want but at this time of year I really go all out. Christmas should give you carte blanche to do whatever you want." Interesting philosophy you have there, Jabba. See, I don't think that there are any days where you get to do "whatever you want". Seems sort of like an anarchist's guide to denial. Let's see if she says anything else to solidify that theory. "Donna, who insists she is healthy, told the Sunday Mirror: 'People who feel guilty about eating are hilarious." Let's see...five foot, two inches...648 pounds...yeah, you sound real healthy there, cupcake. I guess it's your abundance of health that is the reason that you need a Rascal to get around since you can't walk under your own power. You're barely ambulatory and you can roll there and say that you're healthy? I think you're the one who's hilarious.

I also think that she's the one who is gluttonous. Shall we take a gander at her Christmas feast? I think we shall. (By the way, if you're wondering how she pays for all of this food, you're going to be sorry that you ever wondered anything remotely like that at all when I tell you that she "...makes a living from being fat, getting paid to make public appearances and keeping a website where people can pay to watch her eat." See? Sorry.)

Two 25lb turkeys
Two maple-glazed hams
15lbs of potatoes (10lbs roast, 5lbs mashed)
Five loaves of bread
Five pounds of herb stuffing
Four pints of gravy (that's half a gallon!)
Four pints of cranberry dressing
5 lbs of chopped carrots
5 lbs of sweet corn
5 lbs of butternut squash
1 tray of mixed green salad including salad dressing
And a 'salad' made of marshmallow, cream cheese, whipped cream and cookies.

Holy. Crap.

The Daily Mail estimates that the caloric intake of her gastronomic gluttony is about 30,000 calories. That's about 2 weeks worth of food there for a regular person, strictly speaking calorie-wise, of course. It's also right around the caloric intake of all of the animals during feeding time at the zoo. While I assume that her enabling boyfriend cooked all of this for her, my question is where did he cook it all? Did he get it all pre-made? He'd probably have to. I wonder if he rented a wheelbarrow or a forklift to get it all in the house.

The thing that bothers me about this situation, other than the fact that it's incredibly disgusting and beyond selfish, is that this woman (and I use that term loosely, as I'm pretty sure that any gender that she might have been born with is fairly obsolete and irrelevant at this point) has children. She has a 14-year old son and a 3-year old daughter. She's going to kill herself with her carte blanche on life and they are going to be without a mother. Real nice, there. Too bad that her philosophy couldn't have included being a responsible parent to her children.

The Fat Folds Of Christmas

OK, so it's officially the Christmas/holiday shopping season and people are out in full swing. And you know how you get when you're really doing a lot of Christmas shopping. You end up with bags and bags of stuff and not enough hands to hold them. Maybe sometimes you wish that you had another way to hold all of your newly begotten wares. Maybe sometimes you even wish that you didn't have to pay for things at all. And that's when you go back to thinking about how you wish you had another way to hold things that you didn't want to pay for. That's probably when you decide at the time that it's a good idea to attempt to conceal merchandise underneath your breasts (that must have been the size of Canada) and fat rolls as you walk out of an Oklahoma TJ Maxx. Wait. What now?

Correct. Meet a one 28-year old Ailene Brown and a one 37-year old Shmeco Thomas. (I'm guessing that "Shmeco" is pronounced phonetically, since someone clearly neglected to buy a vowel at some point during the naming process. And it would be remiss if I did not point out that Shmeco kind of sounds a little bit like and looks a little bit like the word Shamu. And that this story is about people concealing things underneath their body fat makes it sound all that more whale like!) Behold!

If you're wondering which one is which, Shamu Shmeco is the one that looks like Kenan Thompson from Saturday Night Live.

Now that we all know who's who, let's continue. It would appear that the two aforementioned ladies were shopping at a TJ Maxx in Edmond, Oklahoma. According to The Orlando Sentinel, "...police say they used their bodies to conceal the goods. Edmond police authorities say it was at the Edmond TJ Maxx that loss prevention officers found the duo stuffing items under their belly fat and breasts." Stuffing items. Underneath...their...belly fat and...(I don't know if I can go on without hurling)....breasts. Good Lord, I think I'm going to be sick.

Yep, just tucked a few things away in there for safe keeping, I guess. What the what?! If you're big enough that you can stick things in between your mammoth rolls of fat and have them not fall out or (hopefully) be discovered, how large are you exactly? What is the surface area of your body? What is your getaway car? A Rascal scooter because you're too fat to walk? Seriously now. There has to be more to this story than just this. Are they sure?

Oh, yeah. They're sure. (Whoever those loss prevention folks are, I certainly hope that they get a raise of some sort. I would not have wanted to be a part of this.) According to a one Officer James Hamm, "These two were actually concealing them in areas of their body where excess skin was, under their chest area and armpits." I think I'm going to be sick again. Do you want to know what they were trying to steal? Do you? Really? What if I told you that there were multiple items? Then would you still want to know? I'll wait. Let's say that you do (but don't say I didn't warn you). That's when I'd have to tell you that they tried to steal four pairs of boots, three pairs of jeans, a wallet and some gloves. Wait a minute.

Boots?! They were sticking boots under their boobs?! Boob boots?! Ewww! And did I mention ewww?! What kind of boots? Hiking boots? Those spiky heeled boots that no one I know could ever possibly wear, yet I see them in stores all over the place? What kind of boots? And three pairs of jeans? Look, I've only seen the heads of these ladies, but if this story is any indication of their actual size, those jeans must have been made by Omar the Tentmaker if they were picking them up for themselves. And what's with the wallet? Clearly, they don't have anything to put in it. Was it an impulse steal? At the register that they attempted to bypass?

According to the officer on the video (handily provided below) one of the women actually had three boots concealed underneath her breast and bra. Three boots...two boobs...you do the math! (I don't know what that's supposed to mean. I'm still a little in shock by all of this and usually when numbers get thrown around, there's math involved. My apologies.) Where were the other...five boots?! If you've got hoots big enough for three boots to be stuffed under there, those are some pretty big hoots! Good Lord, woman.

I think that we really need to take a moment to soak in just how many items we are talking about here. Thus, I have prepared this handy visual aid to help with that task. Behold!

Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty darn sure that I could not conceal a single shoe anywhere on my body in the fashion that these two ladies did. But somehow, they managed to stuff eight boots in their somehow AND some jeans on top of that! And even once you have the eight boots concealed on your person, you're just getting started! You've still got three pairs of jeans, gloves and a wallet to go! And yes, I realize that the story said that just one of the woman had the three boots concealed underneath her hoots. Where were the other five boots?! Huh?! That means the other chick had the other five stashed about under her folds of...of...skin. Ugh.

People never cease to amaze. Or in this case, they never crease to amaze me. I know, I know. It's a poor play on words. Especially since we're all dealing with the mental image of all of those boots with boob sweat all over them. What? You hadn't thought of that? Well, think of it now because you know that's what happened! Here's to hoping that none of that merchandise was placed back on the shelf and was instead taken out back and burned in some sort of ritual. The video of this story is below. It's pretty much what I've already described, but perhaps you want to hear it for yourself.

Deep-Fried Fair Fat Goodness

It's time once again for the State Fair of Texas and that means loads of deep-fried goodness and deep-fried weirdness. Those two are often one and the same. The eight finalists for the Sixth Annual Big Tex Choice Awards have been announced. Let's see what we have to look forward to, shall we?

Up first is the Deep Fried S’mores Pop Tart. I'm not overly impressed with this one. It's just a S'mores flavored Pop Tart that has been battered and dropped in the fryer. OK, they serve it with some chocolate syrup and whipped cream when it's done, but how practical is that, really? You can't stab a Pop Tart with a fork, so I would imagine that the consumption process of this is going to be a little tricky. Then again, I've never had a Pop Tart that has been deep-fried, so maybe that does something to the chemical composition (of which the entire Pop Tart is comprised of).

In the category of ANTTA (Absolutely Nauseating To Think About), we have something dubbed Fernie’s Fried Club Salad: Take a big ol' spinach tortilla and put in some diced ham and diced chicken, shredded lettuce, carrot strips, cherry tomatoes and some bacon. Roll that sucker up and deep fry it like you would a chimichanga and throw some deep-fried croutons on top of it when you're done. Give the insane individual who wants to eat that a side of dressing and you're done. I have several issues with this. Who wants their lettuce deep fried? Or warm, for that matter? Not I. I'm also perplexed by the description given of this atrocity over there at About.com/Dallas, as they seem to imply that it is served on a stick. How does that work? Why would you want it to work like that? A stick? No stick. Get rid of the stick.

Who doesn't want lemonade when they're at a state fair? And who doesn't want that lemonade deep-fried? Wait? Deep-fried? That's right! Deep-fried! Deep-fried Lemonade! Simply take a lemon-flavored pastry (whatever that is supposed to mean) that has been made with lemonade and bake it and then fry it up. Glaze it with some lemonade, powdered sugar and lemon zest and you've got yourself...uh, something! You've definitely got yourself something there!

If there's one food that says "Texas" it's a Frito pie. And if there's one thing that says Texas State Fair, it's Deep-fried Frito Pie. Somehow, a one Nick Bert has managed to take chili and cheddar cheese, cover it around in Fritos, batter it and chuck it in the grease without the whole thing falling apart. Now that's some talent right there! He'd better do it right. Texans don't like folks messing with their Frito pies. I have to assume that it tastes better than it looks, there. Good thing they're not judged on presentation.

Abel Gonzales, Jr. is no stranger to deep frying things for the Texas State Fair. His deep-fried butter won the competition last year. He also had winners in previous years with his deep-fried cookie dough and his deep-fried peanut butter, jelly and banana sandwich. (Why add the banana? I have no idea. Deep-fried PB&J sounds fabulous all by itself.) This year he has concocted something called Deep-fried Chocolate, though I don't know why he calls it that. It is a brownie, stuffed with a piece of white chocolate and a cherry. Then that is dunked into chocolate cake batter before it hits the grease. He tops it all off with powdered sugar, cherry sauce and chocolate whipped cream. I still don't get why it isn't called a Deep-fried Brownie.

When I heard that there was something called Texas Fried Caviar, I couldn't imagine that would go over well. Texas doesn't seem like much of a caviar state to me. Turns out, Texas caviar is black-eyed peas. Now that makes sense! Simply take some black-eyed peas fried and add some "special spices" and some Old Bay seasoning (which is presumably different than the aforementioned special spices) and fry away! (I kind of think that a better name would have been Fried Texas Caviar. Everything else starts off with "fried", so why should this be any different? It's only going to confuse fair goers.)

I've saved the best two for last! The Deep-fried Margarita and the Deep-fried Beer! Bring 'em on! I think that I'd probably be more partial to the margarita, even though I am a big fan of beer. Take some sweet funnel cake batter and mix in either tequila or tequila flavored wine. Fry that baby up and dust it with some sort of lemon-lime mixture and served it in a salt-rimmed plastic glass. It sounds lovely. Although the deep-fried beer sounds just as lovely. It's basically a pretzel pocket with beer inside. Take one bite and the beer pours out, as it should. It's beer and pretzels all in one! What's not to love? You do have to be over 21 to purchase either one of these delectables, as they're not in the fryer long enough for the alcohol to burn out, as it shouldn't.

There you have it. Deep-fried goodness at the State Fair of Texas for 2010. It's a good thing that this dealio is only once a year. If people were to eat this kind of stuff all year 'round, the results would not be good. If one were to indulge in this kind of cuisine frequently it would be as a friend of mine said last night, "They might as well have chairs lined up with IVs filled with heated Crisco. Cut out the middleman." Well said, friend. Well said, indeed.

Pedicures By The Pound

Here we have the case of a ridiculously overweight individual who is shocked, simply shocked, when they are treated differently than non-ridiculously overweight individuals. Now, the way that the woman was treated differently seems to be legit, but the way that it was carried out seems to be ridiculous. After all, can you really justify charging someone an extra five bucks for their pedicure because they might break the chair with their enormous arse?

I'm not so sure that you can, but that's what happened. According to WSBTV, a one Michelle Fonville had gone to Natural Nails on Covington Highway in DeKalb County (that's somewhere in Georgia) for a manicure, a pedicure and eyebrow arch. For those services, she was charged $29. Now, when I read the $29 part, I couldn't believe how cheap that was. She had her feet done, her nails done and her eyebrows arched for under thirty bucks? That's a deal in most places.

But at Natural Nails, it's usually even more of a deal, as they usually only charge $24. When Ms. Fonville realized that she had been overcharged by $5, she brought it to the attention of the salon manager, a one Kim Tran. And that's when she got the news that she was just too darned large. See, the justification for the extra $5 was that is was a surcharge that they had imposed "...due to costly repairs of broken chairs by overweight customers. She said the chairs have a weight capacity of 200 pounds and cost $2,500 to fix." Oh. Awkward.

Tran told the reporter from WSBTV "Do you think that’s fair when we take $24 [for manicure and pedicure] and we have to pay $2,500? Is that fair? No.” She forgot about the eyebrow arch. Oh, never mind. Sorry. I digress. Is that fair? Well, those are your prices, right? How DO those places stay in business anyway? I've never been able to figure that out.

Although Ms. Fonville claimed, “I was humiliated. I almost cried. Tears were forming in my eyes”, I'd like to point out that her humiliation did not stop her from running to her local news station and telling them of the tale. Nope. She didn't have any problem doing that. I'd also like to point out that she almost cried. Almost. That's not the same as crying.

Here's the part about this that I really like: "Tran said she refunded the $5 surcharge, and told Fonville to take her business elsewhere." Awesome. But naturally, that was not so awesome if you were asking Ms. Fonville because she said, “The word has to get out there that these people are discriminating against us because of our weight. I mean come on, we’re in America. You can’t do that." I'm not so sure.

I'm not so sure that this is discrimination. I'm not so sure that charging the $5 is such a good idea, but that doesn't necessarily make it discriminatory. If the manufacturer of the chair specifies that it cannot hold more than 200 pounds, then is the salon is technically being negligent if they let people who are clearly over 200 pounds use the chair? They might be. I can just see some obese asshat getting stuck in one of the chairs and the fire department has to come and Free Willy and then the salon ends up getting sued because they let them sit in a chair that wasn't meant to hold the girth of a tractor trailer. It's not like that's unheard of. If this was a case of what the manufacturer recommended, rather than charge the $5, shouldn't the salon just not cater to those over the weight limit? (Do they really need a pedicure? Can they even see their feet? Ohh. I didn't really write that, did I?)

So, I guess the salon should have a sign in the window informing people of larger carriage that they are going to be charged an extra $5? Or should they have something like one of those things at the airport where you check to see if your bag is too big to be a carry on? You know, like if the person can't fit comfortably between the width of some device, then they're too big for the chair? Or do they just eliminate service to the overly rotund all together? If they're only charging an extra $5 and a new chair is $2,500, they're going to need 500 behemoths that want pedicures. Do they have that large (pun totally intended) of clientele from that particular segment of society? Down in Georgia? I'm guessing they most certainly do.

I'm pretty sure that this isn't discriminatory. I think that the salon owner has a legitimate concern, but I don't think that charging an extra $5 is the answer. I think that she just needs to eliminate the problem by posting a weight limit somewhere. That way she doesn't end up with any broken chairs and doesn't need to impose a surcharge. And if Ms. Fonville doesn't like it, perhaps she might consider shedding a few pounds. It's not like she has to be that large, right? (If anyone leaves a comment having anything to do with the thyroid gland or a slow metabolism, so help me, I'll stab my screen.)