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That's enough money to give every homeless American 24 THOUSAND DOLLARS

That's enough money to give 43 dollars to the ENTIRE U.S. POPULATION.

That's enough to fully treat ~95,000 Cancer Patients for FREE.

This is where your tax dollars go.

NOT schools.

NOT Protection.

NOT Healthcare.

NOT Homes and shelter.

NOT Science and Medicine.

NOT the potholes in your roads.

NOT your retirement or your future.

Soon this one-off hangout becomes a regular weekly routine, then bi-weekly, then 3 or 4 nights a week, because you’d rather hang out with your fat foodie buddy and get high than waste time at the gym - and he’d much rather prefer that you did that as well. In fact, although he doesn’t say it, every gym session you skip gets rewarded with an extra pizza and tub of ice cream. This routine starts taking its toll on your body but your fat bud doesn’t mind. He’s started reaching out and rubbing your rapidly expanding belly lately, and you can’t help but return the favour. He’s giving you his old 4XL tank tops and sweatpants to wear since you’re getting too big for your own lately, and these are much more comfy for your widening ass.

And then, before you know it, you’re over there every night, getting high, shoving greasy burgers and pizzas and fries into your flab-filled face, outgrowing all your clothes before you even have a chance to wear them in for long, and now you’re making out with your massively obese friend who enabled you to get this fucking fat, while he plays with your tits and gets you grunting like a genuine pig. You need to be over there regularly anyway - the fatpad he’s pushed on you is now too big and deep for you to be able to reach that buried nub anymore, so you need him to reach in and help you finish.

You move out of your old place, which you pretty much never spend any time at anymore anyway, and move in with your new superchub boyfriend. Now the only place he lets your gigantic rump waddle to anymore is between the fridge, the bed, the bathroom and the couch - he takes care of answering the door with your food deliveries. You’ve forgone even the most basic of oversized tank tops and sweatpants and are just lazed out on the couch in the 8XL overstretched fat guy briefs that barely contain your swollen fatpad and oversized fat pig rump.