The Testament of the High Priest of Feedism

The First Sermon (On Beauty) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748748052717846528/the-first-sermon?source=share

The Second Sermon (On Death) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748748196031889408/the-second-sermon?source=share

The Third Sermon (On Sin) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748748411016249344/the-third-sermon?source=share

The Fourth Sermon (On Slob) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748749401773703168/the-fourth-sermon?source=share

The Fifth Sermon (On Power) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748749645936787456/the-fifth-sermon?source=share

The Sixth Sermon (On Meaning) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750067401474048/the-sixth-sermon?source=share

The Seventh Sermon (On Godhood) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750136775213056/the-seventh-sermon?source=share

The Eighth Sermon (On Independence) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750376780562432/the-eighth-sermon?source=share

The Ninth Sermon (On Struggle) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750451613335552/the-ninth-sermon?source=share

The Tenth Sermon (On Freedom) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750533598281728/the-tenth-sermon?source=share

The Eleventh Sermon (On Life) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750613925478400/the-eleventh-sermon?source=share

The Twelfth Sermon (On Risk) https://www.tumblr.com/highpriestoffeedism/748750697917448192/the-twelfth-sermon?source=share

The Twelfth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

I step with thee into the Casino of Life and approach the games. I take the dice into my hands. I look upon the tableau and see the squares of victory with their prizes. I shake the dice, knowing that the victories earned are not what matter. The zest of life is the rattle of dice.

The croupier asks, "Mr. High Priest, how much would you like to bet on the throw of the dice?" I look at my dice. They are Talent, Dreams, and Focus. I look at my chips, one color representing my material possessions, another representing my societal connections, and still another representing my most precious commodity: time.

I tell the croupier: "Put it all on the table." The croupier looks alarmed. "But Mr. High Priest, you may lose all your property, your society, and your time, and thus your life in the pursuit of your Will to Power! Are you willing to bet all of that on your Talent, your Dreams, and your Focus?" Everyone in the Casino looks at me now. Very few gamblers in the Casino of Life truly move all in.

Laughing heartily at the croupier, I roll the bones and declare to the masses of spectators: "The greatest risk in life is not to risk it all!"

So it is with you, O my Children. You may be the greediest, most ravenous, most gluttonous and lustful of them all, but you will never win all you desire unless you embrace the glory of risk.

“But High Priest", I hear you say, "what if I lose?" I say unto you: You cannot lose! Everyone wants to define your life, to shape or to their ends. Take hold of your life, and you win no matter the actual outcome. It is not the victory which defines you; it is the fight. Every time you struggle against the spirit of entropy and gravity, you win. 

I say unto you: Paradise, spoken slowly, is literally a pair of dice. Gamble what you have, for if you bury your talent and dreams, you will be deemed an unworthy servant and thereafter doomed to a life lived in ennui and quiet desperation. 

If your situation seems impossible and all odds seem against thee, do not bet against thyself. Just remember, opportunities are brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Eleventh Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

I beseech thee, be not ungrateful to life! Life may have surprised you, shocked you, perhaps even anguished you, but Life has also prepared unexpected triumphs for you. Among these successes will be the control and direction you declare upon your own life and destiny. Thou shalt live deliciously, as kings and queens.

Alas, this will not be the fate for most. Indeed, for many of you, you remove one kingly focus only to place another error in its place. This is the cycle of Samsara, the Sisyphean task, the eternal recurrence.

Your fellow nobles, all ambitious with dagger eyes, will try to place themselves on this throne of your world, to get you to live in their world. They will crown themselves with your dreams and say, “Look at me! I am the object and axis of your world. My whims become your laws. What you enjoy today, including your tastes in food, women, and cars, will be dictated by me. I alone will frame the world you live.”

Oh, thou pitiful youth! There you go, bowing down, letting people control you. Yet locked within you is a Promethean fire just waiting to unleash, phoenix-like, a nuclear combustion of soul and desire whose ingredients of dreams and thoughts lay ready and abundant within you. All you must do is combine these ingredients, combine your thought and action, your dream and day, and watch that throne be swept away as ashes.

I preach unto thee: Harken not to ideologies! Ideology is the last refuge of those who refuse to be flesh-and-blood. There is more wisdom in your body than in a thousand philosophies. Abolish all thrones, for the only ruler fit to rule your life is yourself. 

Behold! I look upon the sphinx, the terrible feminine monster of myth, Mother Nature herself. I meet her terrible stone gaze with an equally cold smile. She devours the hearts and lives of all scholars and ideologues who dare to confront her, for they cannot answer her riddle. She smiles at me, for she wishes nothing to remain great before her mysteries. I smile at her, for I perceive a truth far greater than enigma. 

The answer to the riddle of the sphinx, O my Children, is that there is no riddle. Nature is a sphinx with no secret; it is only our minds that assign Life her secrets, mysteries, pedestals, and riddles, and thus perceive her to be a goddess. 

So it is with you, O my Children. I say unto thee, be not afraid of Life! Seize her by the throat and never let go, not even after you are spent. 

Nature is wise and terrible, but she will never lie to you. No philosophy in the world will help you live deliciously. The philosophies which accord with the music of your life follow the rhythm of Nature's conducting. Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed. You can yield to the overflow of the music and be rewarded, or squawk dissonantly and endure unnecessary pain. This is your choice; there is no other. Obey yourself; treat thyself; always demand MORE.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Tenth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

I laugh at the creeds of the masses, who pretend to denigrate the pleasures of the flesh in order to hide their own pathetic little impotences. I reject the acceptance of circumstances, and I make the very things the ascetics avoid my goal. I am not interested in peace of mind, only in freedom and personal power.

To be free, a man must be free of other men. That is freedom. That, and nothing else. Freedom lies in the material world, and can only be achieved through struggle. We must conquer ourselves, our enemies, and achieve everything we desire. We must fight ourselves out of bondage, become our own masters, let no one rule over us, and crush anyone who tries. Then we can do as we please.

Conflict cannot be avoided. Passions enable us to deal with conflict in ways that strengthen us. Unlike the masses of ordinary men, The Feedist embraces his or her passion and uses it as a vessel to develop strength, pleasure, and, ultimately, life-affirming experiences. The Feedist must use their passions to empower themselves and achieve their goals. 

Conflict must not be avoided; it must be accepted and faced head-on. Confliict forces change, adaptation, evolution - or death. The fullness of life and the finality of death are equally terrifying. We stare down both aspects of existence with equal fervor and determination, putting our lives on the line on the quest for our personal goals. To the Feedist, one must be all or nothing: the heaviest, the fattest, the most pampered spoiled blob on the face of the planet - or nothing at all.  

Where the masses are moderate, orderly, and serene, the Feedist is indulgent, chaotic, and passionate. We are not interested in any sort of "diets", "restrictions", or "eating merely to survive". We are interested in unleashing our inner power, about glorifying the strength of the individual who deserves to be glorified, and crushing the weaknesses of those who deserve to be crushed. We seek to maximize our experiences, our possibilities, our passions, our self-development, our self-realization, our self-actualization, our perpetual strengthening and expansion of mind and body.

Mine is an affirmation of life, an embrace of the full spectrum of life's opportunities, including the primal emotions and wildness of being. Leashing one's emotions for the sake of personal gain or self-improvement is no contradiction, and indeed fulfills a long-term goal for future success. Leashing one's emotions for the sake of denying their existence is a denial of life; may the weak be blotted out from the surface of the earth!

We walk a dangerous path, O my Children! We reject the safety of the skinnies and walk a tightrope over an abyss in the quest for growth and passion. We say "YES" to all of life. We seek pride, nobility, and assertiveness, to create ultimate beauty with our bodies as the sculptor and the sculpted. 

Change the world to your liking, my Children! Embrace your hungers and consume all that there is! Unfetter yourselves, and become as the gods and goddesses of old.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Ninth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

There is a worm in each of us, but also a god. This is the fundamental struggle in the soul of modern man: God Versus Worm, Worm Versus God.

I have been a god. I have stood in the rain naked and felt such vitality coursing through my body that I could hardly bear it. Thunder rumbled, lightning lit the sky, and I believed that the lightning flashed only for me. I cannot describe the feeling of Power that coursed through every superstring of my superbeing. "This is what it's like to be alive", I thought: "This is what it's like to be filled with the spirit of life."

I have also been a worm. I have felt such hopelessness and sadness as to wrap myself in a cocoon, submitted my consciousness and my independent judgment before that of others who did not deserve me, and inevitably led to only misery for myself. "Fuck it", I thought: "Let the spider eat me. It's so much more comfortable in the womb of death."

I, like all of you, am hungry. Desperately, eternally hungry. I hunger for life like the lion hungers for its food; my ambition is such that the universe itself will not satisfy me. Orbis Non Suficit. This hunger is almost unbearable; it threatens to break me under the weight of its demands and to incinerate me in the flames of its passion. During those times I finally solve an unsolveable problem after days of tortuous effort, or those times when I flex my lats so hard I feel as though my ribcage might shatter, I understand what it is like to be a tiger in a zoo. 

I say, open all the zoos and let the beasts roam free, so that mankind may relearn truly motivating fear. Not that timid fear that infests the masses, that quiet desperation, that apathetic malaise, that uncertainty of action which characterizes the worm. I speak of real fear that you can taste, the kind that makes your eyes jitter and your mouth go dry, the kind that smells like the moment before lightning strikes. I speak of the fear that necessitates immediate action and courage in the face of destruction. I speak of the fear of a god.

On days, frequently infrequent, when it feels as though the worm might overtake me, I remind myself that I am not meant for the worm; I am meant for godhood. The higher man will overtake me, and my soul will give birth to a dancing star. There is chaos in the heavens; at any moment I could be struck by lightning and go out in a blaze of glory. It is my solemn duty to blaze back into the heavens, to leash the lightning and make it mine, to fuck a hole in the universe.

I am a priest to a dying religion; the god I worship is Arete, the spirit of excellence. I am an unapologetic elitist who worships the spirit of excellence, because I worship the god in myself and despise the worm in myself. Mine is a mad faith, the kind of conviction that made Alexander believe he was the son of Zeus. I believe in the higher man, and I pray that the higher man will win in you too.

I believe in you. I believe in your strength. I believe your strength is just beginning, still growing, still climbing toward the heights. I exhort you to pursue your dreams, to keep your eyes wide and joyous, to keep your childlike wonder and overabundant eagerness alive as you partake in the buffet of the universe. Feel the strength and beauty of which your body is capable. Learn what it feels like to stare into the eyes of a beautiful woman. Embrace the sensation of pressing the accelerator to the floor and not caring if your vehicle flies off the road and you hurtle headfirst into the void; no matter what, you will always have a nice view.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Eighth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

For too long, mankind has externalized its highest values and ideals of perfection into the cosmos. It is time, O Children of Abundance, for the individual to realize himself as the creator of these values, and thus capable of forging his own meaning and embodying his own justification, rather than remaining dependent on external institutions and creeds.

Fear not thy own judgment just because you are not omniscent. Blind faith will not grant thee omniscence, nor is such a state desirable in and of itself, for it represents a cessation for the quest for truth, and permission to kill one's own precious childlike curiosity. I call myself the high priest of a church, but in truth I bear no desire to maintain dogmas or to condemn the passions of the flesh as a church is prone to do. An attack on the roots of passion means an attack on the roots of life; the practice of a church is hostile to life, and I have no desire to condemn any feedist worthy of the name.

No fanatic speaks to you here; no faith is demanded of thee. If these sermons be compiled into a bible, let the book be shredded and its maxims held up to the light of thine own independent reason. I speak to those who have ears for my words, and who have the courage and the will to contemplate them.

I teach you the deification of thyself, the spiritualization of thy cravings, the beautification of thy passions, the reverence for thine own spirit. Only such noble souls are worthy of partaking in the feast of this world without guilt, without fear, without hesitation.

The Way of the Feeder is the Way of the World. It is the manifestation of the primordial drive to reinstitute the yearning for greatness and true opulence which, stripped of the sacred and the profane, is becoming increasingly inhopsitable to it. Your life and your happiness is too precious to surrender without a fight; go forth today and indulge! 

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Seventh Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

I have already evangelized to you of the Church of Feedism several times without the necessity of pointing to a physical building called a 'church'. There is no cathedral, no dusty masoleum requiring worship. There is a place far more worthy of your reverence and honor: thy own body. Your body is a temple, and yours is Your Church, your holy shrine, your declaration of your commitment to a life of hedonic bliss. Display your favorite soul foods everywhere your body can expand, as a testament to the richness and flavor of your soul!

In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche wrote: "Anything which is a living thing and not a dying body will have to be an incarnate will to power, it will strive to grow, spread, seize, become predominant -- not from any morality or immorality but because it is living and because life simply is Will to Power. " The Will to Power is the energy that drives all life, the desire within every living being to acquire and exercise power, power to enforce one's own will and advance one's own position on and within the universe.

In the hands of the Feeder, this philosophy is directed toward the expansion of one's self or one's partner outward and upward and in all other dimensions, via the overabundance of food, converted to the overabundance of Obesity. It is worship of the overabundance of life, because it is the worship of the self. To us, the Will to Power is the Will to More.

So it is with you, my Children. We must move forward, always forward, because forward is the only direction in front of us, and the only place we can go. Eat, drink, and be merry, and let your taste buds be your guide.

The path towards omnipresence and enlightenment is not a leisurely stroll, O my flock. It is fraught with challenge, for you are surrounded on all sides by those who preach abstinence and temperance. The masses will shame you, they will question you, they will threaten you, and they will attempt to scare you into changing your ways. You have chosen a life of happiness, one free from the shackles which imprison the average person. You are of the world and competent within it, but you are not ruled by it. This frightens the infidel; give him reason to be frightened. 

The Way of the Feeder cannot die, for it is the way of Man. It is the Will to Power, to Life Incarnate. Celebrate, O my flock! For yours is the heart of things, and the meaning, and the glory. 

I beseech you, my Children of Abundance, do not lose heart in the face of the world. You are the heirs and heiresses of a world made of raw material to shape to your liking for your consumption, your amusement, and your desire -- if you can prove yourselves worthy of it. Hold your heads high and your chins thrust upward! In the name of all that is orgasmic and holy, do not surrender the hero in your soul! Achieve greatness! Live deliciously! Gorgeousness and gorgeosity to you all! 

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Sixth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

Without a clear vision for the future, there is no hope of overcoming the world's atavistic desire for severity, austerity, and thinness. I offer thee a different path, one of lavish comforts and ease, of great pleasures undreamt of by generations past. What is the Feedist's vision for the dawning of the new age? What is our new First Principle?

I remind thee of an inadequate answer formerly provided by monotheistic religions. Christian morality, for example, is explicitly anti-Roman and anti-classical. Everything considered good by the standards of classical Rome - earthly empire, conquest, personal power, wealth, embracing the passions - was inverted to represent evil. Their opposites - the kingdom of heaven, meekness, self-sacrifice, poverty, asceticism - were declared the height of goodness. In the modern age, we have shed the trappings of the Christian theology, but not the essence of its morality. The authorities of both the past religious ages and of our current materialistic age have one thing in common: a hatred for the body and for this world. Hence, the mind-body dichotomy pervading Western thought, and all of its variants.

I preach to thee of the unification of mind and body, to be found in this world and this life, and all of its attendant celebrations and woes. The beauty of this world is not inherent in the world, but in thy experience and perception of it. You need no meaning; you are the meaning. He who believes that the mysteries of the world are forever hidden, will be washed away by superstition and fear, and his search for meaning will be snuffed out in the void of meaninglessness. But he who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry, will by that decision alone have taken charge of the world, and it is only by taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate and the meaning of his life.

I despise all claims to metaphysical super-reality; they distract us from the present moment and take us out of our bodies. I beseech thee, get thy head out from the abstract moralities, the anti-natural religious tortures, the unearned guilts you have accepted upon thy soul, and come back down to earth, to the harsh reality of nature and the sweetness of the foods and tastes and pleasures to be found thereby.

The universe cries out to me: WHAT IS THY SANCTION? WHERE IS THY WARRANT UPON THY BEING? I answer: I NEED NONE. I AM THE WARRANT AND THE SANCTION.

The universe sneers at me: WHERE IS THY DIRECTION AND THY COMPASS? I HAVE NONE TO GIVE YOU. I shrug: MY DIRECTION AND MY COMPASS POINTS TO ME.

The universe bellows upon me: DO YOU KNOW HOW GRAND I AM, HOW OLD I AM, HOW INSIGNIFICANT YOUR WORDS LIKE "INFINITY", "MAJESTY", AND "ETERNITY" ARE COMPARED TO THE SCALE OF WHAT I TRULY AM? WHAT ARE YOU, SPECK, COMPARED TO ME?" I smile in answer: I AM YOU.

We must become embodied again, like the ancients did before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves. We must learn to act without inhibition, embrace the instincts, and fulfill nature's demand that we become more than what we are.

In Thus Spake Zarathustra, Nietzsche wrote: "There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy." Our new First Principle is the body; it is life itself. Everything that strengthens and uplifts and expands life is good; everything that enervates and burdens and shrinks life is evil. It is in the body that nature and culture are made manifest to their highest potential. It is in the divine act of cultivation of thy body that nature and culture regenerate and adapt themselves to thyself. 

Your body has been crafted and honed to perfection over millions of years of evolution, and it is due to your role as a sculptor and creator of life, of your happiness, of gods and heroes, and your unrelenting desire to one day stand among the stars that humanity has risen to its current heights. The whole history of life is contained within your body. Every god, every monster, every width, every depth, every vision that every human being has ever dreamed of, is within YOU, and your hunger for life and for all delicious things within life need not wane. We not need not become a weak, starved, and lethargic species, finding no meaning in our existence and no will to do more than the bare minimum. True joy is found in indulgence, in comfort, and in pleasure, but also in the overcoming and striving ever upwards to attain greater and still greater indulgences, comforts, and pleasures. Conquering new heights and summitting ever higher peaks, creating ever larger, stronger, wider, rounder, and more beautiful forms. Your forms, which make nature smile and the heavens weep at their beauty, give consecration and joy and meaning to the very earth.

We must become the creators of a new humanity, a thriving humanity, an elite of elites who have earned the right to indulge in all the deliciousness and sumptuousness. We may one day have the privilege of soaring among the stars and counting ourselves among the gods, as the massess of ordinary men bear witness to our divine greatness. Be not afraid or ashamed; your passions and your instincts are what drive humanity to greatness. That frenzied flame within your chest is life incarnate. Consume and expand and overcome, burn that flame brighter and stronger and more furious than before. Never stop, until everything that exists is You.

Your body is divine. Your body is the art of life. Become the New Gods and Goddesses, my Children of Abundance. 

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Fifth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

My flock, my following of devoted acolytes, yours is not to work or to labor. Thou art born for games. Nothing else. Every child knows that play is nobler than work. Games are the microcosm of war, and war is god. Compete for every calorie, for all resources belong to those who take them by force. You are all royals in training. Stand up straight, as is fitting of one of your stature. Consume, gorge, and smile.

Fear not the moral shackles which attempt to slim you down to their pitiful weight class. Such humiliation is for the masses, whose lot is to make possible your lives of decadent pleasure and abundance. Very useful are they, for fixing and maintaining your palaces, for Doordashing your feasts, for filling the factories, for cultivating the fields. Thou art under no obligation to obey anything or anybody. It is only the masses of common people who must bow to such cheap mental thralls, for fear of breaking so-called moral principles. All moral principles, therefore, are the tools, not the masters, of the strong. Power made moral codes, and power enforces them.

Therefore I beseech you, above all else, seek Power. Thou requirest more and better food? Seek Power. Thou seekest comfort and luxury and beauty and material wealth and spiritual enlightenment for the remainder of your days? Seek Power. Is the world your oyster and all that is left for you to do is to prove it? Seek Power.

For every goal you reach, let yourself be dissastified with its accomplishment. Set for yourself higher and nobler goals; consume more and still more; grow larger and still more larger, until all that exists is you. I know you all, my devoted flock, better than you care to know yourselves. There is no point at which the cycle of greedy consumption and acquistion and indulgence ceases to turn, unless that cycle is itself the goal. Attain your goals, and attain the power to reach new ones. That is the Way of the Feeder.

Blessed are the greedy, for they shall inherit the world. Cursed are the temperate, for they shall content themselves with crumbs.

Blessed are the gluttonous, for they shall be full and content for an hour. Cursed are the self-restrained, for they shall be hungry for a lifetime.

Blessed are the obese, for their beauty and allure is beyond doubt. Cursed are the skeletal, for they will be passed over for juicier fare.

Blessed are the slothful, for they have accepted their fate. Cursed are the early birds, for their fear of the uncertain future rules their experience of the present moment.

Blessed are the voluputaries, for they shall obtain great treasure. Cursed are the believers in good and evil, for they are frightened by shadows.

Blessed are the death-defiant, for their days will be long and full. Cursed are those who fear life, for they shall perish amidst plenty.

Blessed is he who makes enemies of dieticians and doctors, for they shall make him a hero. Cursed is he who captiulates to their will, for they have not your best interests at heart.

Blessed are you all, for you are all Children of Abundance. Blessed be this world, for it is your cornucopia.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Fourth Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

I look upon my flock, and I find much to be proud of. I see ambitious glints in your eyes as you contemplate your next opportunity to feast. I hear greedy growls in your stomachs as your bodies rebel against being deprived of the pleasure-pain sensation of fullness for longer than a few moments. I smell the perfume of sweat, burps, and farts which accompany a proper fattening of piggies, and I frolick in the aroma. I hear their attendant melodies and harmonies in a chorus of trumpets, and I sing my song of exultation to the heavens, a psalm of divinity meant for this earth and this life rather than for the next.

Consumption is evolution! The universe is Will to Power; thus, consume, be pleasured, and grow in your power! Blessed is he who takes unto himself, for the buffet of the universe is his by right. Woe unto he who restrains himself, for he will inherit the salad. Praise be to you all, my Children of Abundance!

I also find much reason to be ashamed. My church welcomes all reasons for feeding, but few of you have accepted the consequences of living a truly unfettered life. Look within your hearts, my flock. Most of you, like most of the common herd, harbor broad lists of priorities and restrictions that determine the means by which you pursue your ends. You care what others think about you, how you will be able to continue your feast tomorrow, your well-being. Of course, how much you care about any given restriction or priority will vary from soul to soul among you all. In general, however, you may have a single goal, but you would not gladly sacrifice everything else to achieve it.

The slob feedee is not one of those people.

The slob can commit herself to a single goal completely, absolutely, and unflinchingly. In pursuit of her goal of ultimate pleasure, she has no limits, no inhibitions, no fear. Nothing chains her or holds her back except her own massive bulk. You cannot make her flinch or falter. She cannot be intimidated, blackmailed, coerced, or otherwise convinced to back off from the buffet. There is no sacrifice she is unwilling to make or principle she is unwilling to compromise, all in the name of worshipping unto herself, unto Obesity.

She is more than willing to endure warm urination and copious defecation on herself; in fact, she revels in it, actively pursues it. A taboo in the ordinary world of ordinary men, and only slightly less so in the feedist community, these activities are the norm for the slob feedee, and thus welcome in my Church. She understands that a pig gets dirty sometimes, and that waddling to the toilet to relieve herself burns precious calories. She knows that a wet belch and a wetter fart is not reason for disgust, only a sign that she is ready for more food. The aroma is no odor; to the willing feeder, breathing in his feedee's methane emissions is as life-giving and necessary as oxygen. Neither is afraid; both have reason to be elated. She is a massive baby, accepting and loving the consequences of being a massively slobby blob.

I implore you all to look deep within yourselves, and to ask whether you would not let yourself go completely - I mean truly just let go, in the Tyler Durden sense - if you had the preciously rare opportunity to do so. Certainly if you derive no pleasure from the thought, and have every reason to suspect that your happiness as a piggy would diminish, then I bear no malediction towards you. The freedom to indulge also includes the freedom not to indulge, and my Church does not consider this position to be heretical.

However, I leave you with a challenge. Look out among the slobs and blobs, the consequences of the unfettered piggy lifestyle, their sacrifice of basic hygiene for heightened pleasures, and ask yourself whether the exchange is unfair. Gaze upon the mac-&-cheese tray and the chocolate fountain, and throw your head into it with reckless abandon! Be inspired to take a massive shit in the buffet line! Dare to plop your fat ass down in front of the soft serve machine and make the fuckers carry you out! Gas the place on your way out, and take responsibility for the crime! There is no crime in love and war, except the crime of losing. Do not lose yourself to fear; lose yourself to yourself. Dive headlong into your pleasures; take deeper wisdom from the philosophy of the slob.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Third Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

Gather around me, o ye ambitious consumers, and all the yummy things of the earth shall be yours, to have and to hold forever. Too long we have been shackled by a false morality, our generous nature inverted by false prophets! Too long have your living appetites been, by thine own permission, been sterilized and suppressed into benign inactivity and bewilderment!

In this arid desert littered with diets, thinness, and skin and bones I raise up my voice so that he with ears may hear. To the four corners of this precious earth I proclaim: Sin is no sin!

The seven deadly sins are greed, gluttony, pride, envy, wrath, sloth, and lust. These are the vices accepted by those who believe they are cheated out of the achievement of their natural inclinations in this world. To cope with their misfortunes, the masses cloak their weaknesses in the garb of virtue: the inability to obtain good food is now “temperance”; the inability to obtain passionate sex is now “chastity”; the inability to strike back at one’s own attackers is now “meekness”.

I laugh at such desperate attempts to vanquish one’s own nature. I promote self-indulgence as the great good. Only by accepting and pursuing your true nature, can you become truly virtuous.

To the extent that these behaviors are promulgated and vilified as sinful, that is the extent of undeserved misery one has accepted as a burden upon one’s own soul. I, who have never regarded the fact of my own existence as guilt, who have never felt anything to fear from the pearl-clutchers, have nothing to gain from such nonsense.

You, my Children of Abundance, also have nothing to gain from these sophists and . They have nothing to offer you but a coping mechanism for impotence. I offer you moral sanction on your burning desire to seize MORE.

Greed is no sin; greed is the motivating force of ambition, and without ambition, very little of any importance would be accomplished. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Gluttony is no sin; gluttony is merely the inversion of biological necessity. Most eat to live; the enlightened live to eat. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Pride is no sin; pride is a profound moral reward. It is the mark of a self-made soul, one who has earned his right to boast of his achievements. You are the warrant and the sanction and the meaning and the glory of everything worthwhile on this earth; why shouldn’t you feel proud of yourself? Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Envy is no sin; envy, properly channeled, fuels the spirit of competition. It is the voice which inspires the strong and demoralizes the weak, that which offers you the great choice: stay where you are, or become something greater. Become excellent in whatever you do, and you will rightly earn the envy of your peers. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Wrath is no sin; wrath is the spirit of self-preservation, second only to the spirit of self-expansion. Defeat your enemy, and he may return to hurt you again. Utterly destroy your enemy, and he will bother you no longer. The weak call this cruel, but cruelty is no vice. Cruelty is a means to an end, nothing more. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Sloth is no sin; sloth is the taking of one’s time and one’s measure at one’s own pace, indulging in soft pleasures of relaxation and the abandonment of immediate responsibilities. By taking the time to smell the roses, you build your strength for cultivating better soil. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Lust is no sin; lust is the natural state of being for humans, a powerful instinct that drives almost all others. Sex is good; sex is a profound ecstasy, a microcosm of the entire human experience, one worth indulging in with a worthy partner to celebrate the joy of being alive and being capable of experiencing all the accompanying pain-pleasures within. Fear not the judgment of those who restrain themselves, for you merely remind them of their own impotence.

Life is the great indulgence, and death the great abstinence. Therefore, take up the vigil of the feedist, make the most of your life while you live, taste as many of the forbidden pleasures as you can get your greedy gluttonous lustful prideful wrathful slothful envious little fingers on, and consume all there is in the universe. That is the way of the superior being. Be as gods and goddesses, O my Children. Go forth and restrain thy self no longer!

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The Second Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation. Much the same could be said about feedists. Too often I am overjoyed to see a little piggy in the making overjoyed at her growth and gluttony and laziness, only to be dismayed when she gets "too fat". I am ashamed of these half-measures and compromises of the soul; "death feeder" and "death feedee" are now consequently four-letter words even among those who should know better. Most feedists fear death and will do their best to flirt with the edge of the abyss, but will never cross it wilingly. This is no position based on sound rationality and crystal logic, but on fear of what is not and will never be in one's control.

Let me be clear: there are no blasphemies in my church. The closest to one, however, are the words "too fat". There is no such thing. Nothing in life is to be feared, my flock. Only to be understood.

Behold! I preach unto you an affirmation to life, a "YES" to existence, a demand for "MORE" from the buffet of the universe! I preach unto you the death feedist as the ultimate expression thereof.

Death comes for us all. Regardless of your apprehensions, your fears, or your efforts to reverse your current course and regain a smidgen of your former healthy self, you can do nothing to reverse the universe. Everything succumbs to entropy. Trees, buildings, steel...even us. We are all neither skin and bones nor flab and chub, but a walking and/or waddling pile of ashes. One day, even the grandest and most ambitious of us all will perish in the patiently inexorable entropy of the universe. All that awaits us is emptiness, much like the final empty plate after all the yummies have been consumed.

I do not preach to you of this hell to frighten you; I offer you the unvarnished truth as its own sort of heaven. A rebuttal to those who would have you only nibble at the cornucopia of life, to those half-hearted half-piggies of half-measures and half-helpings who wish to straddle the fence as long as possible, who wish to remain in the realm of ordinary people and in the realm of the enlightened feedist simultaneously. I am no dietician nor half-hearted feeder in the Schopenhauerean tradition. I do not believe that the Sisyphean task of making sure my feedee consumes all and fattens infinitely is meaningless just because it is impossible. I am profoundly Nietzchean, as is befitting a feedist of my stature as the High Priest.

I preach unto you the way of the feeder: a feeder and feedee alike, those worthy of the name, look into the gaping yaw of the abyss, the isolated stagnation of the last proton decaying at the end of the universe, and lift a middle finger to it all by indulging in all of the sweet treats as much as they possibly can while they are here. Yours is not to suffer and die, but to enjoy yourself and live.

Both the feeder and the feedee, then, are superior types of human beings. They know that the feedee's lifestyle will accelerate her demise, and they accept it, with exuberant greedy eagerness. Unlike the masses of ordinary Homo Sapiens, a member of Porcine Obesus accepts death as part of the human experience, regardless of how much she actually eats or how big and unhealthy she actually becomes. Her mind may be permanently fuzzy and soft with gluttony, greed, laziness, and more-or-less constant post-orgasmic bliss, but the part of her mind which accepts her destiny and begs for more is crystal clear. By continuing to glut herself well past the point of no return, the feedee willingly surrenders all attachments to her previous life and the expectations of a normal society not meant for the likes of her and her feeder. While fully embracing the possibility of immediate annihilation as well as the certainty of her eventual death by chcoolate, she achieves eternal bliss in the ever-evolving pursuit of sexual and aesthetic perfection.

Her former self, riddled with anxiety, doubts, and fears of the consequences of her actions, is henceforth destroyed. Every act of destruction is also an act of creation: having renounced all control of her future to her death feeder for the sake of their shared goal, she regains her femininity by taking action and sacrificing her skinny body and her future health for the sake of a higher purpose. She gives up all illusions of hope for losing weight eventually, or for control over her habits and lifestyle, because they have been pacifying her all her life without solving the underlying existential anxiety. By facing her death head-on and embracing the gluttonous piggy within, she is a truly remarkable person worth indulging.

I implore you all to embrace yourselves and to embrace your desires, to fix your guiding star on a single point somewhere between the Golden Arches and go after it with all that you are. You are born to consume and to grow and to be happy. to know that death smiles for us all, that you must smile back with grease dribbling down your lips and your chubby fingers grasping for more. Reject the calls from the herd to remain mediocre, aspire to a higher state of being, become too fat to move, become too fat to live, become too joyful to care.  Amor Fati; Love Thy Fate.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

The First Sermon

Harken well unto me, my Children of Abundance, and I will tell thee the Way of the Feeder…

It begins with an athlete. It must. You cannot do this with someone who is unfit, physically or genetically. What is the perfect block of granite to carve your Statue of David? She is fit. She enjoys activity. She enjoys life. That last part is key. She will not just make a loyal feedee, but she has the potential to truly embrace her nature as a woman. That is the key. A broken or maladjusted woman who hates life will hate the process. She will fight and struggle against instincts that an athlete trusts.

It begins with her first grazing at the buffet. Her appetite will increase. Her libido will fluctuate with her hunger pains. Her body will undergo a second puberty as she fills out in all directions with fat, the metamorphosis from girlishness to womanhood. In this state, you may begin the feeding and caring process. Continually encourage her and take care of her needs. Reassure her that her desires for infinite laziness and endless food are inevitable and natural. Fuck her like it’s her last fuck, and yours, and fill her up from both ends. Double her portions. Feed her until she complains about it, then tell her she’s never looked better and offer her more. Rub her feet. Rub her belly. Massage every square inch with lotions, oils, and restorative powders. It’s all part of the process. This is a journey for both of you. Enjoy it.

Some appetites come naturally. Others are taught. For the man, this feeding and doting is a natural appetite. It is part of your instincts. For the woman, it is a flavor she did not know she craved until you gave her a little taste of it. The good girl takes well to it. Teach her the appetites of the blobgirl. Show her the pleasures of being your blobgirl.

As she swells larger and larger, softer and softer, heavier and heavier, make sure you accommodate your artwork with appropriate accoutrements. As she grows out of her old clothes, encourage her to switch to sundresses, baby tees, and sweat pants, all easy access clothing items that also permit unchecked expansion and painless growth. Discourage the use of underwear for easier access. To avoid bruises, abrasions, and sores, oil or lotion will need to be rubbed into her skin, especially her thighs, stomach, and boobs. Volunteer your services, and enjoy the view. Spoil her enormous belly with kisses. What you lose in calories, you gain in watching her find them again.

Convince her to stay at home and move as little possible. When she insists on waddling somewhere, go with her. Follow behind and appreciate the view. Offer her a helpful shoulder to lean on when she starts to pant and wheeze. Tell her how much you love her when she finally plops back down on the toilet. Bend her over the bathroom sink and prove it. Enjoy the greatest mark of progress with your art: being able to see and caress the pale soft bottom of her belly from behind as she bends over and presents herself, mewling for your attention. The visible-from-behind underbelly is a milestone. A beautiful soft vision poking out from behind the full moon. Indulge in some astronomy. Stargazing is a gentleman’s hobby.

By the time she has completely accepted her life's purpose as your feedee, the whole system is largely self-sustaining. You are now merely along for the ride, helping to maintain the habits and behaviors you have set in motion. Years and years of gorging and napping, lazing and grazing, combined with your personal attention and constant enabling, has at least quadrupled the capacity of her stomach, and utterly ruined her ability to know when she is full. Far from feeling pain when she is pushing her limits at dinner time, now her only way of knowing she has overeaten is the drunken and slightly hazy pleasure that being stuffed to the gills brings her. She no longer needs encouragement to eat herself to the point of needing to be helped out of her chair. Stuffed to bursting is her new normal. She can no longer discern the difference between too much and just enough. There is no such thing as too much. She is merely a vacuum for any food and every food all of the time. Obesity and yummy pleasures and idle luxuriousness, inexorably linked to happiness, contentment, and sexual ecstasy.

Her brain, having marinated for years in fast food, your cum, and the pleasures that indulgence in food can bring, will have irreversibly changed for the better. She cannot go back to her former self. She does not want to. She would refuse to do so even if she could. Her incredibly obese and beautiful body brings her happiness. Being fattened up and taken care of has fulfilled her basest and most instinctive needs as a woman. Your unswerving lust and complete focus on her has brought her contentment. She no longer needs the validation of the herd. She seeks validation from you, her feeder. You alone are the arbiter of her sexuality. Her gain ends only when you say it ends, which is never. Her body is what you have made of it, quite literally. Her beauty is in the eye of the artist who brought his vision into reality.

And this is the true secret of the art of feeding. Blobgirls are not born. They are MADE. The journey is just as pleasurable and desirable as the destination. There is no better lardpile than the lardpile who was once an athlete. Overflowing oceans of rolls upon rolls upon rolls, coupled with an athlete's habits pertaining to staying competitive. They will serve her well as she learns the rewards of indulging in the instincts and cravings of a true glutton. She does not need to be taught these appetites. They merely need to be awoken within her.

Feed her until she cannot move. Fuck her until she forgets her own name. Fill her to bursting, and then burst inside her. She is a woman, and she will only ever know true happiness when she is infinitely obese and immobile, stuffed from both ends with food and cock. Her instincts compel her to devour everything in sight, just as your instincts compel you to feed her more. A perfect match.

Be warned: feedism is not just a kink, no mere indulgence for lesser men or for unworthy fatties. To be a feeder is to be called to something greater, something higher, nay, something far heavier than oneself. It is a holy rite meant only for the chosen few to pursue and to achieve. If and when I see you on the street with your prized possession waddling by your side, I will give you the approving nod, knowing that you have achieved pure bliss in this life and the next.

Go in peace and with pieces of cake. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.

I Have Returned

Behold! I have returned to you all, my Children of Abundance, to re-establish my church! Follow me, and obtain everlasting yummies. In the name of the Fatter, and the Fun, and the Holy Brosnan. Amen.