Who’s a big, proud, happy fatty who loves his body? This guy! Birth marks, stretch marks, scars, hair, and ink cover me and I wouldn’t have it any other way. If you see a shirtless fatty running around the city in the middle of winter. He’s probably drunk, he’s probably trancing the fuck out, and he’s probably me. This bit of daily vanity brought to you by genuinely not having enough time in my complicated but wonderful life to hate myself. Fo real. Four F’s.