Seafoodpunch

Some men enjoy the sensation of sinking into a comfortable couch after a hard day at work, while a doting wife massages their shoulders and asks about their day. Why not combine the best of both worlds and come home to a big, squishy woman you can relax on?

I can only imagine how good it must feel to sit back on those massive thighs (perhaps the remote and some beer conveniently tucked away in the folds) while your head is propped up by the cushiony breasts that magically transform themselves into any desired shape.

In the article, Squishy Goodness, I mentioned how a nice layer of fat transforms even the sickliest pet into the ideal companion; the same theory goes for women, or at least the ones in Mauritania.

The curator of the library in this plump loving region, Seif I’Islam, was quoted in an online article  saying that “A man’s goal is to marry a woman that fills his house. She needs to decorate it like an armoire or a TV set.”  We all know how hard it is to find the perfect lady that just  ties the whole room together! right?

I can only imagine how convenient it must be have your furniture walk around with you when going to IKEA too… (“roll yourself next to that dresser, honey…no, I don’t like it…ok, sit on that carpet over there…ah, perfect!”)

Parents have their daughter’s best interest at heart when they force her to wake up in the middle of night for a quick meal of fatty camel’s milk. Why waste precious calories sleeping when you could be eating instead? Wealthy men want to show off their women…and the bigger, the better.

Only impoverished lowlifes enjoy the company of average sized girls whose bony frames makes any room seem barren. Not only that, but running into a skeletal woman may leave some bruises, while the welcoming, rubbery, layer surrounding the obese elite will cushion every fall, kick or punch. And who could live in a place without the relaxing vibrations and thundering footsteps of the perfect woman making her way through the rooms of the house?

A perfect lady is a sought after commodity and, just like any piece of art, requires a lot of work: It takes Mauritanian women years of overeating to turn into the rippling, masses of flesh that the old fashioned (and tasteful) people find so attractive. Fat is a sign of class, since only the richer families can afford to fatten up their daughters.

The tradition of force feeding the little girls usually starts before the child’s 5^th birthday. Of course, the 15 gallons of camel’s milk forced into a kid’s stomach every day are going to be uncomfortable. But in the parents’ eyes, it is all worth it. If a child can’t handle the meal, she is usually punished (it doesn’t help that throwing a tantrum burns calories either, but such is life) and forced to drink some more…

After a few years of hard work, the daughter is hyperventilating and slick with sweat as she proudly flaunts her bulges in the town square with the rest of the more well-to-do ladies. Oh, happy day!