Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…
I look upon my flock, and I find much to be proud of. I see ambitious glints in your eyes as you contemplate your next opportunity to feast. I hear greedy growls in your stomachs as your bodies rebel against being deprived of the pleasure-pain sensation of fullness for longer than a few moments. I smell the perfume of sweat, burps, and farts which accompany a proper fattening of piggies, and I frolick in the aroma. I hear their attendant melodies and harmonies in a chorus of trumpets, and I sing my song of exultation to the heavens, a psalm of divinity meant for this earth and this life rather than for the next.
Consumption is evolution! The universe is Will to Power; thus, consume, be pleasured, and grow in your power! Blessed is he who takes unto himself, for the buffet of the universe is his by right, Woe unto he who restrains himself, for he will inherit the salad. Praise be to you all, my Children of Abundance!
I also find much reason to be ashamed. My church welcomes all reasons for feeding, but few of you have accepted the consequences of living a truly unfettered life. Look within your hearts, my flock. Most of you, like most of the common herd, harbor broad lists of priorities and restrictions that determine the means by which you pursue your ends. You care what others think about you, how you will be able to continue your feast tomorrow, your well-being. Of course, how much you care about any given restriction or priority will vary from soul to soul among you all. In general, however, you may have a single goal, but you would not gladly sacrifice everything else to achieve it.
The slob feedee is not one of those people.
The slob can commit herself to a single goal completely, absolutely, and unflinchingly. In pursuit of her goal of ultimate pleasure, she has no limits, no inhibitions, no fear. Nothing chains her or holds her back except her own massive bulk. You cannot make her flinch or falter. She cannot be intimidated, blackmailed, coerced, or otherwise convinced to back off from the buffet. There is no sacrifice she is unwilling to make or principle she is unwilling to compromise, all in the name of worshipping unto herself, unto Obesity.
She is more than willing to endure warm urination and copious defecation on herself; in fact, she revels in it, actively pursues it. A taboo in the ordinary world of ordinary men, and only slightly less so in the feedist community, these activities are the norm for the slob feedee, and thus welcome in my Church. She understands that a pig gets dirty sometimes, and that waddling to the toilet to relieve herself burns precious calories. She knows that a wet belch and a wetter fart is not reason for disgust, only a sign that she is ready for more food. The aroma is no odor; to the willing feeder, breathing in his feedee's methane emissions is as life-giving and necessary as oxygen. Neither is afraid; both have reason to be elated. She is a massive baby, accepting and loving the consequences of being a massively slobby blob.
I implore you all to look deep within yourselves, and to ask whether you would not let yourself go completely - I mean truly just let go, in the Tyler Durden sense - if you had the preciously rare opportunity to do so. Certainly if you derive no pleasure from the thought, and have every reason to suspect that your happiness as a piggy would diminish, then I bear no malediction towards you. The freedom to indulge also includes the freedom not to indulge, and my Church does not consider this position to be heretical.
However, I leave you with a challenge. Look out among the slobs and blobs, the consequences of the unfettered piggy lifestyle, their sacrifice of basic hygiene for heightened pleasures, and ask yourself whether the exchange is unfair. Gaze upon the mac-&-cheese tray and the chocolate fountain, and throw your head into it with reckless abandon! Be inspired to take a massive shit in the buffet line! Dare to plop your fat ass down in front of the soft serve machine and make the fuckers carry you out! Gas the place on your way out, and take responsibility for the crime! There is no crime in love and war, except the crime of losing. Do not lose yourself to fear; lose yourself to yourself. Dive headlong into your pleasures; take deeper wisdom from the philosophy of the slob.
Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.
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