Much like poverty, the problem of obesity is not just the fault of the individual, it is a problem of society. Changes need to be made.
Welcome to America! Fast food nation and home of Olympic-level obesity. Thing is I grew up lucky. Between my European father and my health freak mother, my childhood was mostly spared from the dangers of the shitty food most kids call dinner. Did I appreciate it at the time? No, but that’s what hindsight’s all about, yeah? Anyway, with the steady development of independence, I made up for lost time.
I lived in a relatively wealthy suburb North of LA for most of high school, with plenty of options for healthier eating… The problem being, when you’ve got an hour for lunch (that includes driving in traffic), and you spent the night before hustling on the basketball courts for gas money, the only way to quickly and efficiently fill that belly is the multitude of fast food options around the neighborhood.
We were a wild pack of growing boys after all. This is when it became pretty apparent that I was lucky in another way, I’m six foot four and skinny as a rail. Cut to the college years, and my taste for Taco Bell has significantly decreased. New York is a city of too many tasty options, albeit very expensive. So I switched to cooking at home. Again, the financial restrictions of full-time studentude made shopping at Whole Foods an ‘If I won the lottery’ scenario, and firmly planted my expectations in the local C-Town or Associated.
Canned food paradise. Nowadays, I’ve found some balance between epic treks to Trader Joe’s with the occasional splurge at the expensive health food store across the street. But the point of this story is that not everyone is as lucky as me, in fact most people aren’t. Between geographical food deserts and economic disparity, options are significantly limited for much of the population. Much like poverty, the problem of obesity is not just the fault of the individual, it is a problem of society. Changes need to be made. Now, enjoy Joe’s poem and some sick images/video.
The Dime Store Casanova- Takeout Cartons In Ocean Water
Shove that mush down old gullet, like death door.
I walk into zombified air,
Speaking in tongues, I am made of garbage and poorly prepared food.
A sauce of blood and religion, it’s a melange of old news.
I blame the weather.
We blame our significant others.
Sing the hymn of the excuse out of the book of our lord, a treacherous liar.
Old dogs are shot in the backyard.
Shoved between buns, and displayed on dollar menu.
Neon lights…YOU WILL DIE HERE.
Low hanging fruit held by demonic woman hand.
You sleep in hot rooms wherever you go.
A fiery bed, laughing at nothing in particular.
All I want to do is stroke out on the Spanish stairs in front of every obese mongoloid from Kentucky,