Dear Ex-boyfriend,

Though we originally broke up because you were being a shady shitbag, I now have a whole new reason to be pissed. It has recently come to my attention that the bitch you were being shady with is FAT. And not in a cute chubby, or excusably plump sort of way. Like in a "can't say no to donuts after an ice-cream cake and hot fudge sundae binge," sort of way. It would be MORE excusable if you were flirting with the likes of an Alessandra Ambrosio look-a-like or even a young Elle McPherson (or old, whateve, she still rocks it). That wouldn't hurt my pride, because let's be honest, I would do them if I had a chance. But alas, no.

I find myself wondering, what was the attraction? Was it her big Lane Bryant panties that conveniently doubled as a party tent? Or was it the cream cheese frosting that so effortlessly sat on her chin? Did you find that if you were lucky a large piece of roast beef would be stuck in her teeth and sometimes she would share with you? Or could it be that she's one of those brave *oblivious* people who believes that because they make it in her size, she was meant to wear it (Sidenote to slut: Honey, that's what Dress Barn DOES. And they're lying to you. You do look like a sausage.)

I find myself perplexed by this situation all the while having a strange desire to eat lettuce and do push-ups.

Go back to your fat chick, I'm busy fucking your friends,


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