13:23.

I've got a class excursion today so yeah, first time I would be soaking up some culture since I came here. This is what it's about.


Culture. Weird ideas. Creative juices. Counterculture, subculture, anti-culture. Fetish-culture, race culture, culture. I think uni is shaping up to proffer the things I thought it should.

Yesterday, in a lecture about the body as a social construct and Focault, a short video clip from a documentary, Fat Girls And Their Feeders, was shown. Masquerading as revolt against the social norm of thinness (which in itself is a good cause and valid argument), it showed the journey of a man who had the fantasy of "growing" a woman to as far as is humanly possible. His wife, whom he met through a personal ad, was 200-plus pounds when she met him. The first 13 years of their marriage was devoted to "growing" her to her eventual 800-plus pounds.

He took pictures of her in the nude in various positions, which she posed for along this "journey" and as he showed them to the camera, he talked about how turned on he was by how big his wife is and how "this (growing) is every thing he ever wanted".

She talked about how good she feels, being sexy in his eyes while he talks about how this feeding allows every girl to eat all she wants and not feel bad about it.

I hope the hypocrisy of it all, rising valid banners of argument to conceal a sick fetish, is as clear to you as it is to me. The bedbound woman had to be lifted up with a forklift of sorts to be put onto a weighing scale for large animals just so to be weighed. And of course, no, she couldn't even stand or take care of herself.

Yes, yesterday was interesting to me, the academic observer.

And there was a video in another lecture, a short story about idol worship gone extreme, that was darn funny with an Elvis wannabe, posters of Elvis and Little Richard and a pair of sisters bedding the same guy - separately, ahem - but so deluded they were in their minds shagging Elvis and Little Richard respectively.

The most funny quote must had been this, delivered as the poor dude realises why his lass was pushing his head aside to star at Elvis' poster on the ceiling: "You are not f***ing me, you are f***ing Elvis!"

Yeah, sick humour. I know.