Fatboy Sorting
There are many challenges that the Administration at Fatty Camp must address over the course of time, not least among them repairing all the busted bunkbeds and broken exercise equipment, sewing patches into the uniforms their fatboys bust out of...and of course, keeping up with the rampant, ravenous appetites of their Campers as they binge and gorge and stuff themselves endlessly out of house and home...
But among the most pressing challenges--as well as the most popular amongst the Coaches at Fatty Camp--is the Sorting. You see, with all the various types and sizes and flavors of fatboy at Fatty Camp, it is imperative that the Administration does a fine job of sorting its piggies into subcamps, assigning each to a Bunk specific to their blubbery and chub, to their gluttony and girth...and to ensure each of them is put on a diet and workout regimen and under the guidance of a couple Coaches which can "best fit their ample needs."
It starts with size, of course. With the measuring, the prodding of embarrassed fatty after embarrassed fatty onto the scales, a taunting jock wrapping his measuring tape around each quivering pork chop as he shouts out the numbers, as they are flashed on the screen before every fitty and fatty alike! And then, with a firm pat on the ample tukis, a prod of the juicy love handle, and a good shake of the protruding gut, each fatty is sent waddling to their freshly-assigned line, where a sticker in the shape of a bear or a pig or a turkey or a hippo...or even a whale...is stamped onto their fat, widened ass and on the front of their rising, riding shirt.
It's embarrassing, of course, but what better way to put each fatty into his place?
Of course, it doesn't begin and end with the sorting based on size, on weight, on the circumference of each Camper's chest and stomach and ass...no. The REAL sorting begins when each panting, juicy camper is run through a series of tests. An obstacle course through which the Coaches poke and tease and prod each Camper to watch his struggling, ballooning body jiggle as he pathetically attempts to complete it. Of course, each fatboy thinks they’re being tested based on physical aptitude alone. And they are. But on top of the observations by their Coaches and the Directors to see who can do the monkey bars or the wall climb, they are also being watched. Who among them will beg for release? Who will struggle through the line of tires, only to get his fat hips stuck on the second-to-last, to squeal and call out for help? Who will run out of breath on the treadmill? Who will become distracted by the lone cupcake placed on the trap door and yelp as his fat ass falls through? Who will be embarrassed as he swings down the line of monkey bars, aware that his obese ass is jiggling like crazy? Who will be totally oblivious that his shirt has completely ridden up? Which porker will be delusional enough to try the tube slide only to get stuck, wriggling, begging, and pleading, halfway through?
For the Coaches, it’s one of their favorite parts of the Sorting. For the Campers, it’s one of the most embarrassing.
When the Campers have been duly sorted again…the whiners from the oblivious-porker from the determined fatboys who aren’t SO chubby just yet, but who will be well on their ways to obesity within a few months of bingeing…each is sent to the Fitting Room. There, another test awaits. The routine outfitting of the porky, chubby campers. They find themselves on benches, ordered to strip to their briefs and forced to waddle over to the clothing that awaits them. without sizes, the fatties do their best, racing and wrestling each other for the roomiest clothes that can fit their obese bodies. and the Coaches have themselves a fine time watching their piggies struggle, huffing and puffing, cheeks reddening as they force themselves into the bright pink booty-shorts, the humiliating striped shirts that chafe between their rubbing thunder thighs or wedge up their enormous butts or don’t even come close—no matter how hard they tug—to covering their ballooning bellies and exposed bellybuttons! Each, looking like a packed sausage, the Campers grunt as they struggle to lean down, yank socks over their chubby toes and wrestle with their bellies to tie their shoes. Huffing and sweating by the end of their ordeal as they look around at one another’s bodies, puffing out like pastry from the too-tight clothes…
And then the eating bell rings.
Here comes a reward. Or so each fatty thinks, as his ass bumps into his neighbors, fighting each other to claw the way through the doors to the cafeteria. They race, pushing and shoving each other’s overfed bodies to get to the buffet first. nearly bending over, ass up in the air as they race to fill their plates, knowing how quickly food could be taken away from them. Knowing how hungry they are, having exerted themselves during the ten-minute obstacle course and clothing try on; An unusually-EXHAUSTING day for Fatty Camp. They pack themselves in, love-handle-to-love-handle, asscheek-to-asscheek, overblown-belly-to-overblown-belly, on the benches at the tables, which groan in pain beneath the collective girth. Stuffing themselves to the brim on all their favorite foods, unaware that the Coaches and Admin are watching. Unaware that they’re being documented like pigs. Which one likes which foods? Which will eat himself until the button on his camp shorts pops? Which will feed himself until he can hardly move?
It's an easy way to do the final sorting. As, from behind the one-way-glass teams of doctors and Coaches and Counselors take notes, laughing as they sort each of you fatasses into your group.
Oh, the PLANS they have in store for you!
How they go about their sorting. Placing the exjocks—the former football players turned butterball, the swimmers and runners who let themselves go, the wrestlers who never cut again after high school or college. Even their own, the Coaches who couldn’t keep up with their diets and exercise requirements. How much fun they will have, taunting you, reminding you of your skinnier, fitter days when you were hot stuff and an athlete. When you were one of them…
The ‘helpless fatties,’ they’ll categorize differently. Penning you in the bunks where they know you desperately want to lose the weight, though they’ll do everything in their power to sabotage your diets, to fill your overeating urges. Treating you like the adorable piglets you are…
And the gainers. Oh, what they’ll do with you! Knowing how easy you are to control. How you would od anything to be fed, to grow, to avoid exercise. How they will hold that—literally, holding cupcakes and donuts—over your heads, just to watch you beg and whimper and plead.
How much fun they’ll have, when the sorting has been finished and you accept the kind of fatboy you are!
