The world is overflowing with beauty, however, it is equally full of ugly, horrible things. You might think that I refer to the beauty of a Caribbean sunset, or the horrors of an amphibious landing on an enemy held beach. If you do, then you are so wrong... so very, very, wrong.

The beauty of which I speak can be none other than women. Hot women are abundant, and this is a good thing. However, the very thing that I praise is the thing that the Council of Men exists to guard the world against. When ugly, fat women get some crazy idea that they are attractive, they need to be put back into their place. And what better way to do so than with a group of men to set these ugly women back into line.

As a general rule, hot women should be encouraged to wear hot clothes. For instance, if you see a hot chick in a bikini your day gets that much better. But, if you were to see a three-hundred pound beached-whale wearing that same bikini, you just might break down and cry. I know I would.

And that, my friends, is exactly where the Council of Men steps in and does some damage control. Everyone will have been scared by the sight of the tank-woman’s rolls, but she will never have to be seen again, and never again will her fellow tubby friends have to be spotted in such attire. The council will prevent the fatties of the world from wearing such clothing, saving innocent beach-goers from the terrors of the corpulent women of the world. By restricting the fat-ones’ wardrobes, the world would be a far better place.

On the other hand, how many times have you seen a hot chick who dresses like a woman who has seen firsthand the effects of two world wars? This is the sort of tragedy that inspires people to write poetry. I mean, if you got it, why not show it. But again, if you don’t... please don’t.

The council itself is actually quite simple. Made up of ordinary men from ordinary lives, the Council of Men will be on constantly on guard against the evils of exposed blubber, or hot women in shawls. All women must present prospective garments to the council and receive our approval, without which they will be forbidden from wearing such clothing. Potential vetoes can come abound from the council. Should a car full of three women, whose combined weight cracks four digits, comes in with string bikinis and halter tops, then the full power of the veto shall be brought to bear on those unsuspecting human counterweights. In such an extreme case, the council will also reserve the right to force clothing onto a person.

You might ask, "What is an extreme case?" Well, let me tell you. Imagine this, a three hundred pound walking airstrip of a person wanders her ass around in tight pants, a low cut top, and a highly visible, yet partially swallowed up thong. Dear God, please by your grace, save us from this monster. As much as it pains me to remember, I have witnessed such a sight, and Holy Shit, the memory haunts my dreams to this day. In such a case, the council reserves treatment such as a spacesuit for this mammoth.

But you know women, some are going to fight what we do. Someone is going to get the spacesuit treatment but won’t accept it. By refusing to follow our rules, she will have incurred the wrath of the council, and by doing so she will be given three choices: forced lyposuction, mandatory diet and exercise, or some good old-fashioned iso.

Some people won’t obey, so instead of allowing such insubordinate bucking of the system, we show ‘em whose boss. "Hey you, yes I’m talking to you and the steer you swallowed today. Get your ass onto the operating table because we’re sucking my entire weight off of you and then some." Yes sir, if you won’t fix the problem, we fix you.

But some people don’t want surgery as a solution to their horrible weight problems, for these people we have another option. "Hey, my fine rhinoceros of a woman, I’m talkin’ to you. So, you refuse to wear the giant opaque bubble we sent you? That’s ok. But tell me... how does getting your four hundred pound ass onto a treadmill sound? Do you like celery? You better, because that’s all you get to eat for the till you slim down to at least twice the weight of a panther." That’s pretty much how its going to work, don’t like it? Go ahead; just try to fight us. Do it... I dare ya.

However, there are people who enjoy having my weight strapped around their bellies, and to those who don’t like either of the first two solutions, I have a good alternative for you. In fact it’s a win-win situation for all involved. No diet, no exercise, no spacesuit. So, you like to wake up to a nice hot cup of pig fat in the morning? Be my guest in our beautiful clean rooms. Sound like fun? Good, because you’re not leaving. Hope you enjoy yourself... you are all the company you get. Just think, eat anything you want, there won’t be anyone to mock your Jurassic stature. Not to mention, we, the hardworking people of the normal sized world won’t have to see your doorway-clogging self wandering around town. Relax, once you start to talk to a volleyball, you will always have the calming song of cholesterol to calm nerves.

Don’t like any of the choices? Well too damn bad. Either obey the council’s rulings, take the fixes, or move to Russia. Why Russia? Because, the cold can freeze off a few pounds, that is until the peasant-folk decide that they can’t feed you, and would be far better off throwing you into the furnace. At least that way, they can enjoy one day of warmth, all fueled by the choice fattened lard of an American, the warming aroma of roasting human to titillate their snout... hey at least now that half-millennium of pounds is coming in handy.

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