I’ve seen the day when the fat go hungry, the day when it’s all taken from them. The arrogance of indolence will bring them down.

I rolled up at a fancy hotel to pick up a friend and in the driveway was a very fat woman in her car. She had pig-like features and podgy fingers and a blotchy face. I couldn’t exactly tell how big she was, maybe 250-300 pounds. She was sweating slightly––oozing.

She was eating from a plastic container, shoveling it in like food was just about to be banned by law. Her rubbery lips chomped up and down with glee, glad to be satiated once more. Shovel it in blindly only to pass it out later––excess, lots of it––fart!

I wondered why I was watching it. It wasn’t high up on the Richter scale of my most pleasurable moments. Then I remembered that two days before, I’d seen visions about the day when the fat go hungry. I realized I was watching it so I could understand better how lack will affect people. It’s not the fact that the woman was eating; it was the fact that her soul is fat. She is a manic consumer. She eats food, candy, pop, people, money, attention, importance, anything, gimme more, more and more. You could tell she cared not a jot for anyone. It’s all about her and her three hundred pounds of lard. We’re all here to keep her going while she stuffs herself and her ego and her body, that’s Job One.

On the same night, an American lady came to dinner. She’s fat. Her soul is also overweight. She’s very loud; she talks and talks and talks. I swear I thought the leg of the chair would fall off. There were five of us at dinner. No one said a word for two and a half hours. We all had to listen to the fat lady tell us endless stories of how important she is, how spiritual she is, and how much money she has got and what everything she owns is worth. She ordered lobster and grumbled it wasn’t as good as a lobster she’d had in the Caribbean. She doesn’t care about anyone either. She only wanted an audience to watch her consume, to observe her importance. I felt sorry for the lobster giving itself up for a blob like that. What a waste. I felt sorry for her. Her chances of surviving what’s coming is somewhere between nil and none.

A sweet lady I know, a doctor, was working in the ER room at a hospital in New Orleans; a massively fat women of about 450 pounds was brought in suffering from cardiac problems. On examining her, they found a half-eaten Twinkie bar that was lodged in the rolls of her body fat. It had rotted, as it had been there a long time. She didn’t smell so good either. They saved her anyway. Some doctors are very compassionate.

When the Fourth Reich (the American empire) falls, it goes down almost overnight. Nothing moves. The fat lady’s chicken nuggets will be rotting in a warehouse someplace. The Government runs out of money in less than two weeks and the welfare stops, or it’s cut dramatically. You’ll be able to have your breakfast in the fast lane of the freeway––bring the family, let's have a picnic. Nothing moves, nothing. Airport? No. Trains? No. Cars? Forget it. Trucks? Food? Chicken nuggets? Sorry dude not today. The fat lady will squeal like a stuck pig. How long does it go for? I don’t know, but months and perhaps years, not days.

The accumulated lard is just self-importance, the ego’s righteous indignation that has been stored up over the years. It will be hollered from the rooftops for a few weeks anyway. Then the TV goes out. No oil, no power, "finito la bulls..t. " Violence? Lots of it. Looting? Yep, but only for a few weeks then there will be nothing left to loot. The Seven Eleven will be empty. The corn chips long gone. Walking in the street? Deadly. Gangs will roam freely, gunfire at night? Sure.

God is coming to pry open her or his podgy fingers from the Twinkie bar, and that day, the day the fat go hungry, will be a terrible day for the western world. All that is left behind is their callous lies and lard, lots of it––lard the body will have to eat to survive. Many die of sorrow, many die of shame, many die ‘cos God has had enough of them. Many die because their importance will be gone. Many others die because the free lunch is over and they can’t sustain themselves without it. Some die because the dude next door shoots them in the head for a pack of coffee beans.

The day the fat go hungry is not far away. Their three hundred pounds of lard is a symbol of their soul that is fat and nasty and callous toward animals and humanity. No respect, you see? No gratitude. In the end, God lets them off the hook but when it all returns to normal, it will never be normal again.

As they say in sporting circles, "It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings"... well squeals actually.

© Stuart Wilde 2004 - www.stuartwilde.com

P.S. The taking away from humanity has to be. Each has to see their part in the excess; the taking away is part of their deliverance. They can’t be delivered while they are blindly stuffing their souls or their faces. The obesity is their soul in their arrogance. They would not accept deliverance. They would treat it callously with disdain, like they treat everyone and everything, with indifference. They would imagine they were being delivered because of their spiritual importance, because of their specialness.

In fact, they are to be delivered because they are abject specimens of humanity of little or no worth. Their deliverance isn’t an upgrade, it’s the way they die spiritually, to be reborn elsewhere. Deliverance is their escape yes, but in that escape, in the mercy that is eventually offered to them, they see the goodness of God and they see (eat) the ugliness of what they allowed themselves to become. It’s a two-edged sword. ‘Take’ comes first then ‘deliverance’.