Little Dot and Richie Rich are the worst kind of enablers. You have a friend, with an obvious obesity problem, and even worse impulse control issues. And how do you celebrate her birthday? By assisting her in eating her pain away, probably towards premature death. I mean I can understand giving a grossly overweight fat person a freshly caught forty-pound tuna, in this case weirdly wrapped with a pink ribbon and summarily deposited on a presumably dirty floor. By all indications, it still needs to be scaled, gutted, filleted, and cooked. That should burn off a few calories, or at least stave off the feeding frenzy for about a half hour or so whilst amid food preparation activities.
But I would expect that the fish will simply rot away in a deep freezer, or be thrown in a dumpster once the party ends, because why would you waste time with omega 5 fatty acids, when there's sweet, sweet pies as tall as a small child. Why even give fruit when you also give a ridiculous gravity-defying Jenga sandwich that could feed the entire Teamsters organization? The jar of olives I assume was given in an ironical fashion, i.e., garnish your mammoth roast pig with a toothpick and a pimento, lardass. That's just really, really cruel.
If there's any justice, Lotta, at the end of her days, after having losing most of her left foot to diabetes and becoming completely blind in one eye, will realize that her friends really weren't friends at all. They were laughing at her, not with her. Her gluttony as performance art was applauded by many, but at what cost to her dignity? A shame spiral of eating, where she ate because she was disgusted with herself, and thereafter became more disgusted with herself, which led to more eating.... As she rides off on her heavenly Rascal, to that great Vegas buffet in the sky, I can only hope she spits out a blood curse on that obscenely rich bastard and his obsessive-compulsive friend.
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