From 1 to 10 – the Fat Rating System.

Time to lay down the pipe where it COUNTS. Where does it count? You need some quality control: a rating system. Now, before anyone gets all butt-hurt, my 1 through 10 rating system for hoes isn’t really 1 through 10. It’s 5 through 10, because all women are beautiful in their own way; and it’s really because it would be cruel to label a woman as anything less than 5 — that damn #5 bitch might kill herself if I do that. We’re measuring slabs and flabs here, big chunky ass butts, thunder thighs and potbelly guts. Trust me, I can smell the thick sweat off a buffalo-slut hundreds of paces away; it’s like a 6th sense that helps in assessing her quantitative or rather qualitative value. I mean, I also got a magic measuring stick in my head to accurately guesstimate her BMI, number of rolls and weight — it’s like I’m spider man with his spidey senses.

First comes first though, I have to give credit where it’s due. Shout out to the most pimped-out motherfucking player of all time, the most qualitatively quantitative man ever, representin’ Sesame Street. My man Count Count. He taught me to count when I was growing up, and how to evaluate things numerically. Slab by slab, I’ll share that knowledge with you. Let’s put his lessons to work.

Count on Count Count.

First we’ve got the 5 and below. Now I told you that I don’t rate bitches anything below a 5, cause that would be mean as hell. We’re trying to make women feel beautiful and love all of God’s creatures, like this bundle of bones:

This bag of bones is in the -5 range. I’ll throw her to my pit bulls, woof woof!

Man, I think her boney ass would stab me. Fuck that shit, bones are for dogs, but I prefer hogs. Next we got us a 6!

A classic 6.5 hoe. She’s done up well, but not enough ass-cushin’ for my chocolate torpedo to explode.

666 is the number of the beast, but she is just one lonely 6. So I guess that’s 1/3rd of the size of the beast then? Oh well Satan, I’d still hit that — slay that bestial pussy in the name of Christ, Amen.

Next we got us something like a 7:

Class 7 cargo right here. I’ll keep her around until I run out of ice cream.

I hate it when my one night stand (typically a 6-7 like above) tries to make me breakfast in the morning, trying to win me over by playing with my emotions and shit. Nice try bitches. This is why I get up earlier and convince her to go to Denny’s for breakfast instead. Then I bounce, leavin’ her moderately-fat-ass at the restaurant with her pancake ice cream special. Good old hump, plump and dump. Bitch ain’t thick enough for me to sport at the hungry hippo ball.

On to an 8:

The freighter has arrived with our 8. She’s here to feed Africa, and I’m African 😉

Oh man… god dayyyyum. Look at those slabs, each crevice or cut in between each slab is like one giant tight pussy for my chocolate stick to cuddle with! Wrap it around me baby, wrap it around and take it down town. Get snuggie with my joint.

Just when you didn’t think it could get better:

Mrs. 9 needs to ride in the back of the truck if you want to bring her home to fuck.

Good thing my joint is so big and hard that it turns into a rigid black crowbar, pryin’ open heavy asses like you’d open a crate at a warehouse, Nigel’s warehouse. Nothing turns me on like sweaty flab so heavy I gotta work my jackhammer-pelvic muscles drillin’ that ass for gravy. Gotta pull that forklift-doggystyle on her.

And finally 10:

Cottage Cheese is good for ya

All I can say is, thank God I live in Louisiana.

 

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Annihilating last minute resistance: one plate at a time.

My brothers, have you ever thought that maybe last minute resistance isn’t some sort of anti-slut defense mechanism at all, but in fact a universal shit test designed to test the steel, courage and alphaness of every man? Have you ever thought that it’s something ancient, instilled in womankind through our human evolution, in order to weed out weak beta male bitches like you? Let me tell you about resistance homie; Oscar Wilde once said it best: Sex is about power. Ya dig nigga?  Of course we all know that women love to be dominated; but it’s not merely a sexual fetish, over-coming resistance is a display of POWER that all women want and expect. Now I know what you’re wondering, “but uncle Nigel, how do you over power a woman twice your size?” Good question my little chubsters. Luckily there is a shortcut to this ancient test, a unique and special way that I discovered to severely weaken a fat bitch’s resistance to your sexual POWER and domination.

Now obviously when I’m talkin’ about power and domination, I don’t mean you should just whip your dills out and slam dunk her trunk on the street (you ain’t even ready for that shit) but that’s why we have game, ya herr. You gotta be gentle with these giants all the way through before you get to demolition that cottage-cheese ass with your wrecking-balls. It’s like stalking a giant animal you want to kill, like a big ass fucking lion or rhino in the African wilderness. That’s why I refer to chubby chasing as “big game” hunting, because if you move too quickly you’re asking for trouble — trust me, you don’t want to startle a 300 pound mammoth bitch and get sumo stomped to the curb. This is what makes chubby chasing so thrilling: trying to kill pussy that can kill you. You’ve got to tranquilize these big ass beasts before you close in for sex, or else her 300 pounds of last minute resistance will leave you in a world of hurt.

Don’t rush in for sex yet, it’s dangerous.

The solution to eliminating resistance is through her stomach: get her to eat, and eat a whole lot. This is why I was trained in the culinary arts. I cook up things in advance like macaroni and ham salads, fried pizza bagels with extra meat, hog grease fries topped with sugar, hand made beef lasagna, and funnel cakes (also with extra sugar). To keep it simple and easy, I always make these same meals, and I always cook extra shit so I don’t run out. To turn things up a notch, I often use my own bodily fluids to make it creamier or add extra spice; like the juice I serve with every meal “you want lemonade with dinner baby? I got you covered, literally.”  My goal with all of this food and drink is to shut her system down — getting her to over eat her way to chronic fatigue, until she’s too lethargic to resist sex and physical domination.

How I destroy last minute resistance.

How it’s done: I roll her in on a wheelchair to the dining table. After bringing her the first dish, I put my hand around her as she eats, petting her hair and inner thighs until she gets comfortable with my kino escalation. In between meals I run off into the kitchen to get the next meal, there’s a special peep hole in there that I can use to watch her while she eats, and masturbate if I want. Several meals later she might say she is full, however thanks to experience I know this line is bullshit. I mean, how often does a fat woman say she’s full? Once she says this line or starts to slow down her intake, this is when I take my feeding program to the next level. I start by saying shit like, “baby, try this next dish. It’s so good. Just one more bite for Nigel. Open wide” and sometimes I’m literally spoon feeding her. Once that fails, I strangle her, tie her up with rope, and throw her to the ground to await further punishment. Time to whip out the funnel, shove it in her mouth and pour down some liquefied beef jerky into that bitch, as well as vodka to get her drunk.

Now the fun begins: I roll her up in my carpet (piggy in a blanket style) and call over my boys Billy and Omar. What demonstrates POWER more than the ability to completely submit a giant fat slut? And by inviting my home boys over, I demonstrate higher value, flipping the leader-of-men switch in her brain. Being the Alpha male of the group, I get all the men to huddle as we plan her next meal: a huge cream pie for dessert.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Accepting Acceptance: because we are all God’s children

God loves all sizes

As many of you have noticed, there’s been a huge, heavy movement within feminism for Fat Acceptance. As you know, yours truly is all up in that shit with support: one fat pussy at a time baby. However, there is one thing that the “fat acceptance” women have got all wrong: their movement has failed to return the love to us Chubby Chasers (there’s no Chubby Chaser Acceptance). Now tell me, how could Fat Acceptance even exist without Chubby Chaser love and Feederism? What other group is going to feed them and fuck them?  As you can see from comments in my blog, I have already gotten some anti-chubster hate for my feedin’ N’ breedin’ lifestyle. What dumb bitches…. Anyway, I think it’s re-DICK-ulous; Or maybe they really hate me because I’m black 😦  There’s been a lot of racism going on around the blogosphere too, lately — I sometimes wonder if it is all my fault as a big black dick owner. These white nationalists are afraid I’m giving fat white girls what they really want. They can all go to hell in a cheese basket. Let me tell you something, Hitler was definitely not a chubby chaser. At his deathcamps, the only Twinkies they served were laced with vitamin Zyklon-B.

You know what, I think all this anti-chubster racism just boils down to one thing: good old player hate. Clearly, you haters have not discovered Jesus. Jesus loves everyone, equally — people of all sizes, colors, races, creeds, and credit card ratings. And that’s why I prey to God every day, especially after I bang — “God, thank you for making my life so wonderful, teaching me to love others, and thank you for this new notch.” Let me say it out loud, I’m a Christian player. You want to talk about inner-game? Wait until you let Jesus into your life. Jesus doesn’t discriminate, and neither do I, because we are all God’s children. God showed me that my job is to help the needy, to feed the hungry, because there is an unequal distribution of dick. I’m doing God’s work by being blind to size and serving cream pies, bringing back equilibrium. Feminists, Fat-activists, and everyone ought to remember that the saying “all men were created equal” comes from the Bible, from God. Believe me, I keep the good old book on an accent table near my fuck station, with an extra condom in it for those just in case moments. One day there might be an accident, she might roll over. I want to be sure I go straight to heaven.

Before you go hating on my blog, just remember that I use this blog to preach fat acceptance, love, and total equality — all in the name of Jesus. The least you ladies and fat activists can do is reciprocate with Chubby Chaser acceptance. I’m color-blind, and although I’ve never gone with a girl below 170 pounds, I’ll also say I’m blind to size. This is why I love glory holes.

The Food Truck Experiment

Fat acceptance on wheels baby. Are you hungry now?

Check out my new ride. I had to finance that bitch, and use my house as collateral, but fuck that place. This is better than a house, it’s a fornication fortress on wheels. It was worth all the trouble. Since I’ve purchased this foodtruck and acquired my business license, I’ve seen my notch count go up and way out the ball park. It’s the perfect bait to get the whales out of the ocean. From feedin’ to breedin’, I left them fatties bleedin’. Every step of the way my man, got the right plan. Let me lay it out.

After getting a business loan from the bank, I walked out like a boss. I could hear Rick Ross music playing in the background, I knew I had it made. After getting that squared away, I went to my friend and bought the truck, got the windows tinted, and bought industrial grade cooking supplies, appliances, and lots of food. Also had to get extra suspension and support beams welded on the bottom of the truck to support extra weight (you should know why).

Now I know what you’re thinking, “Nigel, why didn’t you just get an ice cream truck? Wouldn’t that be easier and cheaper?” The problem with the ice cream truck is that it attracts more kids, and I’m not running Michael Jackson game here, so fuck that idea. Kids just get in the way. Also, try fucking a big girl in an ice cream truck: all the ice cream would melt at the very least, and my accountant would beat my ass for something like that. I chose the food truck because It allows me show off my gourmet cooking prowess, which really reels in the big game bitches. Finally, foodtrucks are bigger than ice cream trucks, so there’s more room to fuck.

So the point of the food truck is not merely to fatten my wallet by feeding hoes, no. It is about that next level, 2.0 game and logistics. It’s attraction and seduction (feeding and breeding) all in one place, on wheels, and in my control as the owner. Everywhere I stop I pop (ass) like you put poptarts in a toaster. It feels like cheating actually. Some locations I park at and serve ’em up: in front of the the dollar store, Rent-A-Center, Walmart parking lot, in front of first-cash-advance/checks cashed locations, and in front of grocery stores. The latter is one of the absolute best places to set up shop because when fat women go grocery shopping, they get hungry looking at all that food. They can’t eat the groceries until they buy them and get back home. That’s where chef Nigel comes in with the food truck and facilitates their need to feed. Oink Oink baby.

As you can see from the picture, I specialize in gourmet soulfood, but with a modern twist: like fried chicken sandwiches (in between cornbread-waffles), fried cornbread biscuits with secret sauce, fried corn on the cobs, fried chicken with beer batter, popcorn shrimp gumbo, and pizza. As you can see, I love cooking. I love serving food to fat women, seeing the look on their eyes — It’s like Christmas. Little do they know how much blood and sweat, and love I put into their food. It gives each dish extra flavor, that secret sauce. That’s when I wink back at them as I see them get all that food, that secret sauce all up in their mouth. A tent pops up in my pants. Once they get a taste of my flavor, my spice, they’re immediately hungry for more: all I have to do is shift gears.That’s when I serve dessert, “baby, that cornbread-waffle fried chicken sandwich was heavy, you should wash it down with some dick.”

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame