Friday, February 22, 2008

Meet The Matadors: Adam

As part of a weekly segment, we invite you to get to know your lesser Chicago Bulls stars. Don't just jerk off to them like the TPC, but really get to know who they are. Today, we're going to get to know Adam McKinney (as told by Adam McKinney's bio).

My arm acne makes me a more attractive mate!

Hi! I'm Adam McKinney -- I also go by "Major Girth." I'm 23 years fat -- get it? A fat joke! -- and work as a cook at Jesse's Tavern in Oak Lawn, IL. I'm about 6'3, with a belt the size of the equator (another fat joke! I'm so brilliant!). My favorite food? Old McDonald's entire farm! Man, I am HILARIOUS. Am I married? I'm I'd prefer a double or triple cheeseburger! Ha ha ha...


OK -- you win. The Bulls asked me a lot of questions for my bio, and told me that it was best to make as many fat jokes as possible (for "I feel sexiest when:" I answered "When I look down and have a food stain on my shirt"). Do you think I enjoy being made into a public joke? A laughingstock? I have man-boobs like David Hasselhoff! I actually broke an elevator in Greece because of my weight! It's embarrassing!

I eat because I'm depressed, and I'm depressed because I eat. I always wanted to be a dancer -- the sort of guy who could meet Alyssa Milano and live happily ever after. Instead, I'm this fat slob who can't even fit into a pair of underwear with a giant red Mohawk that I use to draw attention away from my shriveled penis.

I used to have such a beautiful face -- people would marvel at my deep blue eyes and boyish looks. I wonder what they'd say if they could look at me now. I have a keg for a stomach, a picture on the "wall of fame" at the Buffet City on 87th and Cicero, and hand permanently stained by BBQ sauce remnants.

The Bulls like us to dance, you know. They like to make us act fools, wear stupid hats, and tap dance. We're at constant risk for heart failure, diabetes, and more, but the Bulls insist on raking us over the coals "just to see what happens." I think Krause is in with some of the players on a "Death Pool" to see which one of us passes out from heart failure first. Just look at me in this picture:

That's the life of a Matador. We're all breathing heavily, just struggling to stay alive. If we lose weight from dancing, they make us eat twice as much to put the weight back on! We're just maxed to capacity out here. I have to eat a polish sausage and a beer before and after every halftime show (not to mention whenever a fan asks me to eat something -- I'm required by contract to always eat food when presented).

I'm not allowed to let my weight dip below 300 lbs, and so I eat. We're human, you know. Sometimes I don't WANT an El Gallo steak burrito at midnight. I just want to sleep, and forget that I've become a monster and a slave to my own corpulence.

Please -- don't feed the hungry red-headed matador.

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