The term fat shaming amuses me to to end. When I was a chubby kid in grade school the P.E. teacher made me run laps while ordering the other boys to pelt me with dodgeballs as the teacher himself hurled humiliating insults. We didn’t call it fat shaming back then. We called it trying not to get your head hit by a dodgeball and praying for the fucking bell. Sure it turned me into a callous, cold and dark-hearted adult. But I never had to go to rehab for an eating disorder like Kesha. I guess her music producer said she looked like a refrigerator a couple years back and Kesha took that to mean nobody cared about her as an artist or a human being, just how her body looked. All of which is completely true. It drove her to stop eating and looking better in her fucked up slutty costumes which I guess is a bad thing because now Kesha’s in rehab for a month figuring out how to be more perfect:
I’ll be unavailable for the next 30 days, seeking treatment for my eating disorder … to learn to love myself again. Exactly as I am.”
Well, that’s just wonderful. If not totally wrong. You’re not supposed to love yourself the way you are when you’re a fat-ass, or a junkie or a horrible musician or a person who drinks their own urine for attention. You’re supposed to be proud of your good shit and fix your broken shit. This modern self-esteem bullshit is going to cost us 30 days of no Kesha! Dammit. That’s too steep a price. If I had told my P.E. teacher that I loved myself exactly as I am, he would have smothered me with a Presidential Fitness patch and buried me in an unmarked grave next to the tether balls.
Photo Credit: WENN, Ke$ha/Instagram