10 Reasons Why YOU Should Fuck Fat Women


You could sneak up right behind her #BBWdistracted

#1. Big Women Deserve Big Love.

Because of size-discrimination and racist/sizist manosphere bloggers like Heartiste, BBWs have a very hard time finding real men that have the proper credentials to handle their larger equipment in the bedroom. BBWs are an acquired taste. They need men with patience and experience in the unique art of super-sized-seduction. So If you have a big cock (black guys) and have the desire to hit it, it’s your duty. Save the whales motherfucker!

#2. They Are More Desperate for Sex: Get Your Notch Count Up Brothers.

So you walk into a bar and call it a night because you can’t find a girl under 170 pounds? You’re a bitch. You’ve failed at being a man. If anything, you have the advantage because BBWs are insecure about their body image. Make them feel good by doing the right thing. Fuck them up: they need they’re pussies wrecked. You get bonus points from her for finding her pussy. It’s never been easier to get your notch count in the 3 digits.

#3. You Live in the United States.

If this country gets any fatter it’s going to sink into the ocean, so it’s time to learn to swim. In other words, that means goin’ with the flow and fucking fat women. If this continent actually does sink, your BBW fling can double as a flotation device — provided she doesn’t somehow weigh more than the water she displaces.

#4. BBWs Are More Submissive.

See reasons #1 and #2: the dating market is an economic market, and fat women are in great supply. They need you more than you need them.

fat slave

Food Torture

I love making fat white bitches my sex slaves, it’s the ultimate revenge for slavery. Send them to my pigpen. Amen.

Picking up BBWs is liking getting Burger King: have it your way.

#5. They Give Better Head.

Because they’re hungry. She probably uses a corndog as a dildo, imagine what she’ll do to your dick after you put some mustard on it. Ask her if she likes Hershey kisses and you got easy rimjobs.

#6. Bigger Ass and Titties.

You like a big ass? You like big titties? I can hear you say hell yeah! Amen.

She’s got thick slabs of flesh that need a good flossing. Gotta clean ’em out.

#7. They All Love Video Games.


Come on bitch, put down that controller. We’re going to play a Big Game now. It’s Massive-Multiplayer: you, me, and that fat white ass.

Now what man on earth doesn’t want a girl that likes to play video games? Come on man, you know regular dates are bullshit. You’d rather just play video games and fuck than take her to the movies to see some hollywood remake. Wouldn’t we all? Well guess what, that’s exactly what she wants too! That and lots of food. But hey, you like 7-11 nachos too, right? Sounds like a win-win-win (triple win) situation right there. Play video games, eat, and fuck!

Now quit being a bitch when you can have it your way. Time to hit up the big pussy. A new notch is better than a new Xbox live achievement. Trust me on this.

And again, big bitches love video games. They gotta do something after fucking and eating, shit.

#8. Using Food Instead Of Money = Legal Prostitution.


                                                  Here’s a Guide

Why pay for sex when you can make a nice meal? It’s cheaper and less humiliating than handing her dollar bills. She’s hungry, and if you can feed her, she’s going to spread ’em. Sometimes you have to force the food in her mouth, but as long as it gets in there you’ve won half the battle to the pussy.

#9. You Get Discounts on Electric Wheelchairs and Motorized Scooters.

Anywhere you go where they sell wheelchairs and motorized scooters, you get a discount. I buy them all the time, though I don’t need them for myself. Rather, I buy them for my game, it’s just part of my logistical tool set. I have a collection of wheelchairs I bought cheap. As I always say, “always have a spare wheelchair, just in case the first one breaks.”

Also you get free handicapped parking too. As long as you are escorting (or corralling) hoards of fat mammoth hoes, you don’t need a legitimate handicapped sign in your windshield. Fuck the system.

#10. It Will Improve Your Cooking.

In Big Game, you gotta feed your bitches. And you have to get better at it each time if you want to progress and get easier big bangs.

Recently I made cannolis for a special BBW… With cum filling.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Read More: The logistics of banging fatter women.

How I pick the right woman

nigel kills it again

She was born hungry, and I fed her well.

Back in my early days when I was a younger man, I was a french fryer at McDonald’s. I thought the smell I brought with me from work to the club was all i needed to be a big-ass-getter. But I was so on it, so hungry, so inexperienced, I didn’t even give bitches the chance to smell me. I just chased girls with big asses like I escaped from prison and had to bust a nut real quick before the police could catch me and send me back. I was always buying new clothes, trying to increase my swag, and hustling hard like a door to door salesman selling dick. Sometimes it worked, but man, It got tiring; it was hard work. I usually only drink Gatorade after fucking fat BBWs to replenish my electrolytes and energy/sugar-levels, but back then I had to drink that shit all the time because I was exhausting myself so much. At one point I had to smoke crack just to keep up and stay alert. Then my hair was starting to turn grey, and I had had enough. Those were the days… Then a major paradigm shift changed my game forever. One day I saw a man on TV hunting wild beasts in Africa. He took his time to wait and ambush big game beasts, and that’s when I knew that catching big game required big game. It was so much more strategic, relaxing, and intelligent than what I was doing all along. All the pieces of the big game puzzle finally came together. This ain’t checkers motherfuckers, it’s chess.

So let’s come back to the present, around last week. It was big ladies night at the Ham Hock Saloon. I weaseled my way into the VIP party room where they had an open buffet and strategically planted myself in front of it — specifically the table with the fried chicken assortment. The BBWs started waddling their way in like a stampede. I was gettin’ real excited but kept my cool with a big pitcher of beer in my hands. I stood there posted up like a soldier on guard duty, just watching them get comfortable, waiting for all that food to start digesting and sap up their strength. The time started to fly and the room got hot and sweaty, when all of the sudden I felt an intense pressure on my foot, like a truck had run over it. I thought my foot was about to be pulverized, but I held my breath to avoid screaming in public. I looked down and noticed it wasn’t someone’s foot stepping on my shoe, but instead the end of a walking cane — a fat ass woman (with severely debilitating gout) had inadvertently placed the end of her cane on my foot for support as she struggled in a lumbering waddle, on her way to the next buffet. Immediately all the anger and pain turned into excitement, because the weakest link in this procession of very big titties-n-ass had just stumbled into my clutching range.

She was short and very wide, especially her ass — no wonder she needed a walking cane, it was epic; or maybe it was because of her gout, which looked like a giant ass tumor. I had to make the first move, so I grabbed her by the love handles and pulled her closer, pretending to whisper something in her ear about how I noticed her checking me out, and how beautiful I think she is; see a little flattery goes a long way with big bitches, and it’s a great way to buy time. She smiled, and then I offered her some beer from the pitcher I was holding. She gave me a funny look and then asked me if I was just trying to get her drunk, but I was like, “baby, you serious? Just have a sip.” She looked thirsty, and I was thirsty for her epic ass and pussy, it was a win win situation. But being a black belt in big game, I also knew something else: if I could get her to drink the whole pitcher of beer, it would seriously agitate her gout. So I put the pitcher up to her lips and I started chanting, “drink! drink! finish it bitch!” and got the whole room to chant with me; the peer pressure set in and the beer disappeared. It didn’t take long for her  to guzzle it down, she was born to swallow.

After drinking all that beer, it only took 2 minutes for the pain to set in. Her big ass foot with the gout was glowing red hot and lookin’ ready to explode. She could barely stand up, even with her cane for support. She started leaning on me and moaning. I knew I had her right where I wanted. “Excuse me folks, coming through. She needs help taking a shit” was all I had to say, and everyone moved out of our way as I guided her to the restroom. One hater that supposedly was her friend jumped out in front of me and asked me what I was doing, but I pulled out my wallet and quickly flashed him my health insurance card that has a blue cross on it, “I’m a nurse at the hospital, I work with obese patients. I’m a professional, I know how to handle this.” He quickly shut up and walked away. Once we made it to the restroom, I guided her toward the stall. She put up some physical resistance; and being a big woman, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to just push her in, so instead I yanked her walking cane away and she fell to the floor like a limp sack of shit. She fell into the stall perfectly, just barely fitting in with her ass hanging out. I couldn’t close the door, but it’s didn’t matter. I unzipped my pants and got to work, kneading her doughy ass with my chocolate dough roller.

It is thanks to my strategic approach to big game that I don’t have to break a sweat and waste my time if I don’t want to. Sun Tzu would approve.

my man sun tzu

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Fat Acceptance Is About Overcoming Obstacles


I’ve been in my rockin’ chair lately, at night, just sittin’ on my porch and thinking a whole lot about big game. I’ve got the bayou right in front too. Staring at it calms me down after a hard day of big game and making big bitches sweat. I love it, It’s like a moat that prevents my bitches from escaping, and them crocodiles floating around need to eat too. But anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, I reexamined my own philosophy on chubby chasing and it got me thinking about how fat acceptance fits in. We all know that fat acceptance is about self acceptance. It’s about a big honey lovin’ herself for the person she is on the inside, as well as her big beautiful rotund form, no matter what baby! And that’s just the way God wanted it. But what everyone forgets is that fat acceptance ain’t just for bitches no more, it’s for chubby chasers too. Like climbing mount Everest or running alongside the bulls in Spain, big game is a manly challenge waiting for y’all to Accept; It’s an adrenaline roller coaster that will test your endurance, patience, compassion and mental strength. That’s why we call it Fat Acceptance, because Fat is the challenge that must be Accepted in order to be conquered.

When you’re trying to fuck fat mammoth hogs like I do all the time, it’s inevitable you’re going to face all kinds of bumps in the road. All kinds… Believe me, it’ll test your faith not just in fat acceptance, but also in the Lord himself. I remember this one time I was getting ready to fuck this seriously super sized hoodrat bitch’s ass, when right before sex she broke down in tears. I had to listen to her long sob story about how she got trouble finding a man, and how she couldn’t believe I wanted her. She went real deep too, talking about how she likes using corndogs as dildos. I was stuck cradling her belly flab in my arms for a few hours. Damn, I was about to fall asleep listening to her shit when finally we got down to some fucky fucky.

I skipped the food foreplay and went straight for the her cock-pockets. She was so fat, she could play hide and seek with her genitals – a real BBW queen. It took me a while to find her pussy with all those slabs gettin’ in the way. I started thinking about just pounding her face and calling it a night cause I was too tired to drill for pussy oil, but then I said to myself, “Nigel, come on now, you know better than to not be a man of true Fat Acceptance.” So I kept hitting it until finally I heard her moan. I got excited and went balls deep only to find out it was actually her asshole. Fuck, Wrong hole! I decided to keep my cool and pull out anyway cause the condom came off and got lost somewhere in another slab — lord knows where. Anyway, I pulled out my chocolate yardstick, put on a new jimmy hat and put it right back in; when all of the sudden I noticed a brown, stank corndog rolled out; before I could bust a nut too, shittt. She got up and tried to waddled to the bathroom but she was leaving a trail of dew dew on the way. Man, good thing I left a tarp under my bed. I ran over to my secret forklift in the other room and came back to help her situate herself over the toilet — she was real heavy too, thank god my toilets are made of steal instead of porcelain. Anyway, I was prepared and willing to fix the situation; that’s what makes me a responsible gentleman. That’s what fat acceptance is all about: being ready, willing and prepared to accept any challenge, any problem. It’s like running up a steep hill, going up is a bitch but once you get to the top you feel good.

To make a long story short, the following day I spent the whole afternoon in my fishing boots, in the bathroom fixing the plumbing. Thank god my toilets are made of steal instead of porcelain. I was putting in work with my 10 foot industrial grade plunger, it felt more like I was churning butter or a giant cauldron of dew-stew. I was sweating real hard, getting dew dew stains on my fresh new chef outfit. Fuck my life I thought, then I remembered FAT ACCEPTANCE. It’s all part of the grand challenge: every day presents battles, a new hustle… Of course, the greatest challenge is still hitting the big ass itself, now that’s a real obstacle 😉

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

When BBWs Act UP

Who you think you is, BITCH!!!???

Who you think you is BITCH!!!??? MY BITCH THATS WHO!!!

Sorry for the hiatus my chub-brothers. Nigel X. Davis is back in the house to rupture volcanic ass and spread the word of Big Game without shame baby. I’m back with a vengeance after the rough shit I had to deal with two fuckin’ weeks ago in my house. This one BBW became so belligerent with her straight up crossin’ the line, Big-Mama-Drama-Queen bullshit, that I had to check her. I had to put the hippo down; you know, sometimes you get these wild bitches that got a potato chip on their shoulders, man they think they are something. They bring the trouble that makes me like, “Hell no bitch, you are finished!” every single time.

So it was roughly two weeks ago that I invited a big bitch over my house for a nice, home cooked, six course gourmet dinner. I was on my best behavior with candles lit, music turned up, and in my professional chef clothes as I escorted her via wheelchair to my dining room. As I rolled her on up to the table she started looking unhappy. I was like, “baby, is everything all right?” She pointed at the food and rolled her eyes, “that’s not enough!” I was like “Ok baby, I got this, I got this!” And I went back to my kitchen and made her extra food. By the time I came back with more food she had already eaten most of what was on the table, without me. I was stunned, what a rude bitch! But, praise the lord, I kept my mouth shut like a southern gentleman. Soon after she tilted her head back and opened her mouth, then I realized she expected me to feed her. I hesitated at first, but she waved me over and pointed toward the mashed potatoes. “okay…. fine.” I gave in, took out this big spoon and shoveled three bowls into her mouth. Soon I was feeding her everything on the table with my bare hands, and letting her lick my fingers. I tried to get her to lick some food off my dick but she just pushed it away. What nerve! I just shrugged it off as hot foreplay at first, but then I remembered from past experience: she’s just trying to make me her bitch. My inner voice was like “No way hoe! I’m not your black slave” — you know, I prefer it the other way around.

Then it was time for dessert. I decided to continue keeping this smooth. I brought out the cake and she got really excited when she saw it. She was flapping her flabby arms in the air, grinning with a triple chin smile. Eight layers with vanilla ice cream on top: It was a wedding cake just for us. I cut out a piece and popped it in her mouth with the utmost grace of a perfect basketball shot. It landed so perfectly, it was a moment of glory. All of the sudden she spit it out and sneered at me. I couldn’t believe that shit. I was like “WHAT THE HELL BITCH..”  Her: “This is NOT AN ICE CREAM CAKE!!! EW!!! I WANT ICE CREAM CAKE!!!”

I ran back into the kitchen so fast that my toque blanche (chef’s hat) almost fell off. I tossed the first cake out the window and scrambled for supplies to make a new one. I was sweating with fury, forgetting the original reason I had brought her over for dinner: to fuck her fat white ass. I was too busy to think about myself… too busy carefully scooping up and sculpting the vanilla ice cream into a cake, a cake fit for a queen. I patted each layer down with my dick a few times to give it just the right texture, hardening the crust. Despite my blue balls I pushed on, working like a true artisan who mastered his craft. I did it all for her, I went the whole nine yards. I even coated the top layer with jizz and blow-torched it into a creme brulee. I was so proud of that cake when it was finished that I ran out with it, but as soon as I set foot back into the dining room, somehow I tripped into the cake. FFFFFFuck. I fell face first into that cake, with most of the layers all squished up all over the floor. That’s when she stood up from her wheelchair and pounded her fat fist into the table, “GOD DAMN IT, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CAKE!!!!!!” When she said that I was so I fucking pissed… I grabbed my chef’s hat off my head and threw it on the ground with intense anger. I was so mad, I jumped on it too. I even ripped my apron off. “I ain’t your chef no more, you fat bitch!” Yup, I called her a fat bitch. I had to tell her the truth. When chef Nigel throws his hat down, that’s the signal that I’m about to throw down.

The final straw came when she threaten to sit on me as punishment — now don’t get me wrong, I like gettin’ sat on by a big bitch, but only voluntarily. When she dared to threaten me, I got back up real quick and ran on back into that kitchen. She was half way across the dinning room when I popped back out with my three-foot egg beater. I turned the lights off to set the mood: a beatdown for dessert.

i-beater ass

I whipped that thing out and beat her ass and pussy down to the ground. I took that thing and whisked her pussy up so hard, she gonna need a separate funeral for it. I fucking plunged her head first into what was left of the ice cream cake, making her finish it off the floor while I went ball deep in her. It was gameover. I put her in her place.

Moral of the story: Some fat hoes are straight up belligerent, possessed by the devil. You gotta make’em sweat it out.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

The 10 Commandments of Big Game Hustling.

The 10 Commandments of Chubby Chasing.

Sometimes posts get long and the critical information you need — the tips and tactics — get lost in my flamboyant, eloquent fancy writing style. So as a man of God It’s my duty to simplify your spiritual journey to Big Fat Ass ‘n’ Pussy, as well as helping you define your moral compass at the same time. I’m going to whip it out like Moses with his staff, and lay it out for you to see all in a single post. This is not going to be your typical blog roundup post. I’m doing this 10 commandments style, bringing you holy Big Game wisdom to help you with your Big Game Hustle. Amen.

1. Feed your Big Beautiful Women. These women are hungry and they need your help. In the Bible God tells us to feed the hungry, so this is really killing two birds with one stone. You win points with God and you get her excited to come back your place for more food at the same time. Follow this advice and you’ll get two thumbs up from God when you hit that mammoth pussy. After a night of banging out earth-quaking-ass, don’t forget to make her breakfast in bed the morning after.

2. Be Blessed where the Sun don’t Shine. If you manage to get a BBW back to your place with the pretense of getting some food, she’ll be expecting to devour a serious sized summer sausage too. There is a very good reason for this: the physics of penetration. You won’t make a dent in those thick rolling slabs and thunder thighs with a small Asian dick. If you want to be a Big Game Hunter, you gotta use a high caliber bullet. This is where black guys come in 😉

3. Help Guide Fat Women to become BBWs. The journey from fat slut to Big Beautiful Woman is a spiritual one. As an ambassador of fat ass gettin’, it is your job to guide each fattie to BBW-hood, by making lewd comments and suggesting things that accentuate her chubbiness. Tell her it makes your dick hard. Tell her to let the flabs hang out. Tell her that her muffin tops look tasty like real muffins. Tell her you want to jizz in her insulin pump. Play video games with her after you fuck her. It’s a wonderful sedentary activity that will later force her to believe in body-acceptance because video games make you fatter.

4. Fulfill her rape fantasy. Fat women feel an intense urge to be wanted, even though most men are afraid to harpoon big punani. They develop imaginary stalkers and rapists to fill the void; that way they have something to talk about when their thinner friends talk about sex.

5. Become a Better Man by Increasing your Notch Count. God created all men equal. But if there is one thing that separates the men from the boys, it’s a high notch count. In America, with the rising rate of obesity, the only solution is to become a chubby chaser.

6. Protect your BBWs from the outside world. Many extremely large women are discriminated against, persecuted and made to feel ashamed of their size. The largest ones are gawked at like they’re side show freaks. This is why it’s important to insulate your big-bitches from the outside world. As soon as you snatch one up, lock her up in your fat love fortress so the outside world doesn’t harm her anymore.

7. Embrace and share the gospel of Fat Acceptance. As men doing God’s work, It is absolutely imperative to show our love for Big Beautiful Women. One way is to stand up and shout it out loud, but the best way is to practice what you preach by bending that big behemoth slut over and letting her feel it too.

8. Be Safe. Wear your hard hat.

9. Become a Walmart Shopper. Walmart is the most successful retailer in America, because it was God’s will. And God wants us to shop there for our groceries 😉

10. Her Stomach is the key to her Heart. Learn how to cook, and how to cook well if you want to break through her big fat resistance to sex. Nothing eliminates last minute resistance like a fatigue inducing insulin rush. Whooooo, who the fuck needs Chloroform when you can use fried-chicken-alfredo-pizza and Faygo soda?

Why big women prefer Brothers

If you ask me, Fat is the new black; and all these Fat, Big Beautiful Women want is acceptance. They just want to be accepted, no matter what their size is, rather than be discriminated against. And let me tell you somethin’, discrimination is the consequence of racism — where there’s cornbread, there’s chicken, and where there’s discrimination there’s racism. But if you think racism is only about color, you’re probably a racist and don’t even know it yet. Racism is like a shape shifting monster that’s hiding in a dark room, waiting to rape you. It can transform itself into discrimination against someone’s culture/religion, sexual-orientations, and in this case: shape and size. This is why we have the Fat Acceptance Movement and places like Reddit, it’s like the underground railroad for fat people.

Often big women are discriminated against because of their size: men turn them down, employers turn them down, flight attendants kick them out of the plane because they take up more seating than they purchased… All that hassling, but they never bother getting to know the BBW and how beautiful she is on the inside. It’s discrimination out of ignorance, it’s Fascism against fat. Sometimes men are so cruel that they will actually get drunk and hook up with these big beautiful beasts, only to run off once they’ve sobered up, and laugh about it with their buddies. It’s a hump and dump game, but without any feeding; and that is no way to treat these gentle giants — a real man at least feeds his bitches.

This is where Black men come in. When a fat (white) woman sees a brother, she sees a man that understands what it’s like to be hated, to feel discriminated against, and she sees this as a man she can vibe with, that will feel her, empathizing with her struggle. It’s also an opportunity for her to get some dick. She sees black men as opportunist of ass, taking every opportunity for it, because they believe in accepting people. She knows brother’s typically love big thick asses too 😉

Anyway, the point is… they know that we know that they know that we both love eating at McDonald’s. Now not all brother’s love fat girls, but a disproportionately larger number of us will hit that BBW pussy, whereas most wussy-ass white/asian boys unwittingly discriminate against fat ass. It’s thanks to black guys (yours truly) that are showing the way to empowerment and self-acceptance, helpin’ fat women to embrace their bodies and love themselves. Without us, being a fat woman would be so much more painful; every fat hoe would be forced to buy into the fascist Hollywood stereotypes of beauty — huffing and puffing at the gym as she turns into a twig. Every good, fat accepting black man is a fat bitch’s Harriet Tubman, showing her the way through the underground railroad to fat acceptance dick. Amen, A-fucking-men…

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

With huge size comes huge responsibility.

“Daddy, why is my dick so big?” These are the words I remember so vividly, that one terrible day when I came home from school in tears; I was only 10 years old. My new step-dad was hanging out on the front porch, smoking a joint in his rocking chair when I asked him. I told him I couldn’t handle all the teasing and insults from all the other kids at school about my penis being too big. At first he just laughed at me and didn’t understand, then he told me “shut the hell up you idiot” and ripped off a huge ass branch from the tree in the front yard — the kind that black parents typically use to discipline their children — and beat my ass with it. My grandmother showed up and stopped my step dad, grabbing the branch out of his hand. I thought I had been rescued, but it turned out she just wanted a piece of the action. She beat me even harder while the whole neighborhood cheered her on. Growing up black in the south is not easy.

From then on I kept my emotions to myself; and eventually the teasing also stopped, but things didn’t necessarily get better. While other boys openly fantasized about becoming professional football players or baseball players, my ever growing dick brought me nightmares of being confined to a wheelchair. I couldn’t dream like they could, I couldn’t feel comfortable in my own foreskin. Because of this, it became harder and harder for me to socialize with other boys. Instead of playing basketball, football or baseball with other boys, I was wrestling with wild hogs in the mud, all by myself.

Drawing I made while I was in elementary school. My worst nightmare was that I’d end up in a wheelchair.

As I got older, it became a sexual insecurity. And It didn’t help that every pair of pants I bought, within a couple months, started to get holes in the front where my tip hung out. I never could maintain a nice pair of pants. Some of the girls made fun of me and called me patches, because I had patched up my pants to cover up all the holes and stains. At one point my dick was big enough that it would sweat all on its own, leaving hot sweat spots on my pants. It looked like I peed my pants sometimes, shit. And in high-school, where having a bigger dick was all the rage and gossip, you’d think I’d be the top dog. Not at all, every bitch in town knew there was something wrong with Nigel the recluse. I felt like I was the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something.

It wasn’t until one hot Sunday at church that my perspective and self-esteem changed. After the church service and singing, the preacher pulled me aside for a little talk. He told me that he knew God had a plan for me. He told me that he had noticed that I had an extra beat in my walk, an extra skip in my step. He didn’t go into any explicit details beyond that, but he was an intuitive man of God. I knew that he knew that I possessed the staff of Moses. He told me that with a great gift comes great responsibility, and that’s why I gotta have a big heart too. After I parted with the preacher I headed outside to mingle with the crowd that had gathered for their after-church gossip. And I swear to God that sun rays were shinnin’ down on me, and also shinnin’ down on this very big lady with a small hat and a huge fan. Her ass was of biblical proportions: something you’d need to carry on Noah’s arc. And yet that mammoth momma looked sad, depressed… And she was dressed to the nines. What the hell I thought. So I walked on up to her with my 3 beat stroll and asked her if she had a man: a tear fell from her face. She told me that god made her so big that she could never find the right man. I put my arm around her and the spirit of God spit holy game from out my mouth. I lost my virginity that night! Praise the lord for showing me the path to the P. Through Jesus, I had discovered that my gift from God was perfectly suited for bigger women; my joint was perfect for flossing each slab and buttering every roll in her bakery. While other men fear Goliath pussy, I slayed it like David. I went on a path to feed the hungry and help the needy. I got the biggest, baddest, fattest ass in town when I accepted Jesus into my game. He showed me that my game is big game.

Be charitable with the dick, let God into your game. If you have a gift, you have to use it to help those in need, of all sizes. With a huge dick comes huge responsibility, so you gotta have a huge heart.

Fat women love stalkers and rapists.

I know what you’re thinkin’ homie, “what tha hell, you crazy Nigel?” Word, I gotcha, but hear me out son. Listen to this.

Have you ever hung out with some girls and the fattest one says, “hey, this guy keeps stalking me” or “this guy keeps grabbing my ass”? Do you ever turn on the news and the story of the night is that a woman got raped in the next county — they show her picture, and she’s a fat as fuck, 78 year old grandmother? What’s goin’ on here? Are rapist and stalkers really gettin’ together, conspiring to victimize fat bitches? Yeah right, and the tooth fairy flew into my bedroom one night and gave me a rimjob while I was asleep. Actually, the answer is a big fat fucking NO. These pussy ass wannabe rapists and stalkers couldn’t wrestle a hog in the mud, much less ride a wild buffalo. If anything, these rapists and stalkers are just jealous that they can’t handle a big woman. So why in the hell are these fatties screaming rape and accusing random men of stalking them?

Nigel has been thinking about this shit for a while.

I’ll tell you why, because big bitches want stalkers to rape them. It’s disgusting I know, but we live in a disgusting world, so you gotta man up to that challenge or fade out. Since most men out there aren’t making moves on fatties, these big women have got to invent their stalkers and degrading rape stories to tell their best friends forever. They don’t want to feel left out and less sought-after when their girlfriends get together and talk about dating and sex, so they tell tall tales — to boost their ego with lies rooted in their deepest sexual fantasies. Some of these bitches are so desperate they take their bullshit to the news stations; they need the whole world to know that they got gang raped and gagged with a twinkie. Bitch please, who you foolin’?

Yes it is! She isn’t just dreaming, she’s using a falsified signal as a means of begging for cock while simultaneously fattening her ego.

The truth: when fat women cry and complain that they got stalkers trying to rape them, it’s a signal that they aren’t getting any dick. They’re advertising their desperation by pretending and announcing that the total opposite is true. It’s that plain and simple. They want dick by any means necessary, even if it’s imaginary; but they want the real thing by force, they’re that fucking desperate. This bullshit is so bad that innocent brothers are getting locked away in the pen; so I’m doing my part to fix this problem, thank the Lord that I found a solution.

Captain save-a-hoe to the rescue. When I realized this shit, I put on a trench coat and went out telling fat bitches I was a detective. I told them I was looking for this known stalker who is also wanted for rape and on the run from the FBI. Each and every fat hoe I questioned immediately piped up said she was one of his victims, a victim of the exact same stalker/rapist I was looking for. Man, what a coincidence! I invited each one to my white van for further questioning to help with the investigation, they all agreed. Once I got them in the van, I told them to take off all their clothes so I can gather some DNA evidence. Clothes come off, I bend the bitch over, and made some new DNA evidence. Botta bing botta boom botta bang.

Now things didn’t always go down smoothly in the white van. Sometimes I’d get a hostile fattie telling me that she needs to see my badge and shit, and that she ain’t snitching unless I’m for real. This is when I ask her what the rapist looks like. As she’s giving me the description, I put on my ski mask and say, “did he look like this?” Then I whip out my cattle prod and tase the fuck out of her until her pussy glows in the dark, and proceed to harpoon her face with my chocolate yardstick. After the zap and tap session I dump her ass off in front of the homeless shelter so my buddies can finish her — I’m all about recycling — and by sharing that ass I protect myself legally. This is what I call forming an LLC (Limited Liability Cooperation) because the liability (blame) is spread out. I’m not the only rapist one involved. She won’t be able to remember and report all of us. Furthermore, the cops aren’t going to believe another epic rape story anyway.


follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

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