Hey Fat-Ass!

Wha?
Was that directed at me? Yes?

Why then I must commend you on your powers of perception Mr. Stringy-haired Homeless Guy. You're not a blind, greasy, parkdweller, are you? Your vision is just dandy. Perhaps you thought *my* powers of perception were somehow lacking, that I might not have noticed the very large bundle of gristle and flab that follows me everywhere. I suppose the purposeful click of my heels on the sidewalk must have triggered your equally fine sense of hearing. Alerted to the presence of someone who clearly had somewhere to go, and something to do there upon arrival, you bellowed your message.

I'm still not entirely sure what transpired in your little brain. Perhaps you sought to arm me for my project by providing me with a snippet of information I didn't already have. Perhaps you simply latched on to the most immediate aspect of my appearance, so you could tell me something else after you had my attention. After all, it's a well known fact that women striding up the street don't often respond to being called Ma'am, Miss, and even the occasional Hey Lady.

Though perhaps ... perhaps in the deranged, disenfranchised fashion of so many grubby panhandlers reeking of Eau du Dingleberry you had a different motive. Perhaps you thought to insult me loudly and publicly, hoping to break my spirit for a moment or a day, to bring me down to your level.

If so, it was a lame attempt; it didn't work.

For the record Mister BadTattoo-UnkemptPelt, it is absolutely true that I have a large bottom. Moreover, this is not news to me. Each cheek is grander than the divine bequest assigned in entirety to Asian chicks all about town. In fact, there's a giant shelf back there. You could serve entire rounds of drinks off the back of my ass. You could sell balcony tickets at the Opera for seats on the end of my seat. I'd have to be stupider than your left nut, you know, the one with pitbull fang scars in it, not to have noticed that I have a big butt.

You hollering across an entire city block, is far too late to clue me in about this. If you want to make someone feel badly about themself, you're either going to have to stop picking on fat women who are already hip to that game, or you're going to have to get a lot more creative.

(this post lovingly inspired by Steve Martin in his adapted role of Cyrano de Bergerac, and not so lovingly inspired by rude men who have nothing better to do than shout unseemly things at passersby)