Gideon and I sat side-by-side
Conversing about a bitch we had eyed:
I think she’s fat.
But why is that?  She’s just a little round.
I hate her face.
It’s no disgrace.  Her features are profound.
Complexion sucks.
Who gives a fuck?  They’re simply extra mounds. 
A big ass nose, some old ass clothes, her breath is world renowned!
Her nose is straight, shirt is ornate, great qualities abound!
“You,” Gideon said with a pang,
“See the whole world in black and bang.”

                So she had a face that would launch a thousand ships - in the opposite direction.  So her teeth weren’t very white and her body wasn’t very tight and her weight wasn’t very light.  Master Ovid said it best, “At night there is no such thing as an ugly woman!”  Perception is a flaky friend who seems exceptionally vulnerable to six ounces of alcohol; moles morph into beauty marks, a few extra chins turn into a lil’ extra skin, hairy arms become hardly hairy, faces lacking symmetry are suddenly perfectly asymmetric.  When I want my dick wet the beer goggles bend light and warp space turning Picassos into Rembrandts.  Mushiness aside, in the drunken dark, they all look and feel the same.  Sometimes vagina is vagina and friction is friction; I could be fucking a cunt, a canteen, or a cash register and I wouldn’t know the difference.
                Of course, in the morning a gripping uneasiness accompanies the first glimpse of a defective bedmate.  If you attempt day light sex then you’ll quickly discover that the primary difference between hot and not is the refractory period.  Unlike their ugly counterparts, plump bitches make exceptional hungover bedmates because they are swollen with endearing qualities.  A friendly flabby female is the closest real life entity to the jovial Santa Clause image of our youth, why won’t more wide women dress the part around Christmas?  Overweight ovaries require minimal effort to enter (aside from a late night snack) and their saggy bodies humorously jiggle when pounded from behind… is there anything more charming?
                I’m not advocating obesity; I believe most women would benefit from a biyearly bout with bulimia or perhaps a semiannual attack of anorexia.  During my tenure at Maryland I even developed an exercise regimen for undergraduate sluts that hadn’t already adopted the cocaine and cigarettes “model” diet.  I called it “Walk of shame for weight loss”, and I showed the immense metabolic benefit of repeated late night strolls from the bars to my apartment followed by vigorous morning treks back to their dorms.  A persistent and dedicated individual could feasibly fight the freshman fifteen down to the freshman five.  I really saved a lot of women that semester.
                My nonchalant cunt choices have certainly chafed my wingmen through the years.  “Tonight, we are going to use BETTER JUDGEMENT!” they tried to tell me.  Better judgment?  Right.  I make two kinds of decisions: horrible, or really horrible… so even my better judgment ends up being bad judgment. Besides, fucking flawed females is like a morally uplifting righteous donation.  When will the toothless twat ever kiss such a handsome face?  When will the cross eyed cunt ever be smothered by such a hot body?  When will the pimply pussy ever taste such delicious dick?  My sexual performance could be abysmal, my morning mannerisms could be awful, my promises could be embarrassingly hollow… it won’t make any difference.  These women will never forget nor regret my magnanimous nature.  It’s a shame I can’t write-off the gallons of cum I’ve dumped into this charity.
                A corpulent woman is generally jolly, but she is quite capable of unsightly conduct that rivals her unsightly features.  For instance, why do portly pedants periodically complain about me cumming inside?  Carrying an infant of my genetic pedigree is indubitably the greatest treasure life could bestow on such disfigured creatures and, if anything, I’d expect gratitude for my generous gifts.  I’m particularly aggressive in pushing Plan B down the throats of these fatty ingrates and I hope their distended bowls suffer through days of uncomfortable nausea.  Impregnating an imperfect female is a terrifying notion, but, given my unscrupulous nature, I can’t fathom a more fitting and bloodcurdling curse.  A gross and distorted child… like I could ever love such a thing.  In that situation, is it really wrong to pray for a miscarriage?

I love Picasso’s “Nude woman with necklace“, so I decided to draw ”Sloppy slut with santa hat” below:
If the image does not display, you can view it here at flickr.