Free Big Fat Manifesto by Susan Vaught

write TWO TABLESPOONS.
    Then THUMB.
    And glance at my thumb. And at my big fat belly.
    Thumb.
    The sounds of a weight-loss commercial drifts down the hallway. One of those advertising the newest fabulous miraculous, lose-fifty-pounds-in-one-week
     pill. The kind with the writing at the bottom in two-point mi-crotype that flashes by so fast you'll blink and miss it. If
     you freeze-frame and whip out a magnifying glass, it'll say something like:
    These claims have not been evaluated by the United States Food and Drug Administration. Do you think they would touch us with
     a ten-foot research beaker? This product does not treat, cure, or prevent any diseases or medical conditions. Taking this
     pill does not guarantee you'll lose weight, but we know you'll spend the bucks anyway because you're desperate. Individual
     weight loss will vary with how much you diet and exercise, because any fool knows pills don't make you lose weight. Our spokespeople
     are probably paid actors but we call them compensated voluntary endorsers to confuse the hell out of you. Testimonials are
     total bullshit and for informational purposes only and we don't even endorse, research, or verify them (Bob's uncle wrote
     them all anyway). If anybody does manage to get results from this bit of pressed sugar and herbs—other than indigestion and
     high blood glucose—they aren't typical. Don't crush or snort this product. Don't stick this product in your ear. Don't heat
     this product and spill it on any part of your body. If you do, you're a dillweed and we're not liable. The guys in white coats
     talking to you are not medical doctors. Duh. We can't believe how many stupid asshats will actually buy this RIDICULOUS trash.
    I laugh and look up.
    Freddie and NoNo are gazing at me, seeming relieved.
    Freddie nods to the notes I'm making on the paper that used to be blank. Fast notes. A satirical diet ad, only the sad part
     is, the real commercials are so much worse if you really read and listen.
    I whip a clean page over my notes, write the title in big letters, and hold it up for their review.
    I LOST 500 POUNDS OVERNIGHT WITH HOODWINKIA!
    Freddie's grin gets huge. "Go, Fat Girl."
    And I take my pen, and I go.

The Wire
    REGULAR FEATURE
    for publication Friday, September 7
    Fat Girl Freaking
    Fat Boy Chronicles I
    JAMIE D. CARCATERRA
    My freak-out cauldron is approaching rapid boil.
    I've been gigantic since I was born, and the biggest health crisis I've ever had was the first day of my freshman year, when
     I got stung in the nose by a bee. Nothing like a Fat Girl with a big red swollen nose, wailing and blubbering all over study
     hall. Took me a while to live that one down—but I did, because I'm not just any fat girl. I'm the Fat Girl. Remember?
    My boyfriend Burke, who has given me permission to dub him Fat Boy, must feel like he has a lot to live down. He's tired of
     assumptions, stereotypes, snarky comments, and attitude thrown in his general direction. He's tired of the things people say.
    Mostly, he's tired of being Fat Boy.
    Yeah, that's right. Fat Boy has had enough. He's so sick of it that he's going to risk his life to change his outsides.
    What do you think of that?
    Fat Boy's giving up football.
    Fat Boy's giving up a chunk of his senior year, and some of his counts-for-college grades.
    Fat Boy's going under the knife, and all Fat Girl can do is watch and pray and make sure all of you, every one of you in this
     whole school, get this one crucial point: Obesity surgery is not an easy way out of being fat.
    Don't even think it. Don't even imagine it.
    You have no idea what Fat Boy is about to go through to look more "normal," to feel more "normal." Never fear. I'm going to
     tell you. I'm going to report as Fat Boy works harder than most Marine recruits, hurts worse than most people in horrible
     car wrecks, and risks so, so much.
    By this time next year, because he's choosing surgery, Fat Boy has a one in twenty shot of being Dead