I’m Josh, and I love my fat disgusting pig-wife.

I’m a freelance author and lifestyle blogger. My wife is a fatass and tub of lard. I met my wife Charlotte at the county fair when I mistook her for one of the prize hogs and started feeding her corn out of my palm, careful to keep my fingers curled in so that she wouldn’t gnaw off the tips of my fingers. About a full four minutes into feeding her, I realized she wasn’t actually a hog, but was actually a very fat yet somehow sexually attractive woman! We quickly fell in love, even as she never kept her eyes off the corn. We’ve been inseparable ever since, partially because I always have a little bit of corn in my hand and she’s always sniffing and licking it. She’s so cute like that.

I love my fat butterball wife, disgusting curves and all. I love the way she really fills out her sty. For me, there is nothing sexier than this woman right here: thick thighs, big booty, bunch of chocolate sauce in her hair ‘cause she fell asleep in her sundae, contact lenses made of Necco wafers, sometimes eats out of the recycle bin if she’s too tired to get to the fridge. This gorgeous girl I married fills out every inch of her jeans and is still the fattest one in the room. But hey, that’s just me. I’m a feminist, and so is my big-as-a-house revolting wife.

As a teenager, I was teased for being attracted to things that didn’t even look human, like women fatter than a size 4 and big rocks and like those old timey bikes with one big round wheel. Then, as I became a man and started to educate myself on issues such as feminism and farm animals, I realized how many men have bought into the lies of the media. A woman doesn’t have to be tall and thin to be beautiful! A woman doesn’t even have to have a name or personality! She can just be a shapeless blob with no distinguishing marks about her like a pile of condensed milk. That’s how I feel about my gorgeous, disgusting wife Carly. Wait, is that her name, “Carly?” That doesn’t look right. What’s her name? Definitely something with a C. I’d ask her, but her mouth is full right now, as she is eating Thanksgiving dinner in August.

Sure, my wife isn’t going to be on the cover of Cosmopolitan, except when she sits on it because I’ve lined her kennel with issues of Cosmopolitan. Because when she sits around the kennel she sits aroooound the kennel. Which is fine! But Cindy is so kind. Cindy has the biggest heart of anyone I know. Even her heart is plus-sized. And I love it for that. Whether my wife is finding an old bagel tucked underneath her cute side rolls or devouring a whole chocolate fountain even the metal parts before the guy we rented it from comes to take it away, she’s always being true to herself. She’s always just being Claire.

Guys, rethink what society has told you that you should desire. A real woman is not a porn star or a bikini mannequin or a movie character. She’s perfectly unique. She has stretch marks. She has big flat teeth that she uses to bite you if you try to cut when she’s waiting in line for soft serve. She has cute little dimples on her booty that she fills with hard candies and bouillon cubes to keep for later in case she gets hungry at the DMV. The twelve teats that run vertically down her front might not all be the same size. She’s real.

Girls, don’t ever fool yourself by thinking you have to fit a certain mold to be loved and appreciated. There is a guy out there who is going to celebrate your turgid sausage of a body for exactly who you are, someone who will love you just like I love my disgusting wife Chappie. I love you, honey!

I THINK THIS IS IT!

SHE’S APPROACHING!

YES! THE ANSWER IS YES!