Jackson Clarion Ledger, MS
Aug 29 2005

For whom the dinner bell tolls? Ah, for us

By Orley Hood
ohood@clarionledger.com

What a relief! Finally, the news is in. We successfully defended our
title as the nation’s fattest state.

I’m telling you, if I’d eaten one more Twinkie my stomach would have
exploded and my belly button would have shot down the space shuttle.

I want to thank all my fellow Mississippians for going that extra
mile (in your cars), to get on the outside of one more hot fudge
sundae, one more bucket of fried chicken, one more sno-cone, one more
dollop of gravy.

Orley Hood
Texas has “Remember the Alamo.”

We have “Remember to upsize.”

Ah, the most beautiful words in the language: “Would you like gravy
on that, sir?”

“Durn tootin’, little lady.”

So, here we are, late August, our kids going back to college, and we
can proudly proclaim that we’ve given the term “big man on campus” a
whole new slant.

We are the only argument left for gigantic gas-guzzling SUVs. We wear
them with pride.

We are to the all-you-can-eat buffet what Tiger Woods is to golf: We
never give up. We never quit. We keep grinding no matter what.

Our poster boy is John Daly, the plus-sized power-hitting
chain-smoking golfer who said the other day that he couldn’t care
less if he gained more weight. I’ll just buy bigger clothes, he said.
Now there’s some logic all Mississippians can swallow. You go, boy
…

A job well done

We squeezed out Alabama, West Virginia, Louisiana and Tennessee as
the Americans most likely not to be able to button our britches.

Our more elegant neighbors to the west and the north – Colorado and
Massachusetts – might be quick to point out that our demographic
sports a definite hillbilly redneck patina.

Our profile goes something like this: A bunch of big ol’ guys in
Wranglers and Stetsons, leaning on fence posts, chewing tobacco and
dipping snuff, slugging down beers while we wait to pull the
inch-thick pork chops off the grill.

That unsightly generalization can be easily disputed: We don’t wear
Stetsons. They’re for Texans. We wear tractor hats and ball caps.

My late grandmother, bless her heart, made us understand that choking
down one more chicken leg at Sunday dinner was not only patriotic but
a humanitarian gesture of epic proportions.

“Remember the starving Armenians,” Grandma would say. Be thankful for
what you have. Eat up.

Be proud

We were in a restaurant near a beach a month or two back, surrounded
by country ham, redeye gravy, hash brown potatoes and fried eggs. We
were feeling, as Grandma used to say, extra blessed. I’m proud to
report that we fulfilled our responsibilities as Americans and as
Mississippians.

My English muffins with jam and butter might have been just the menu
item that put us over the top in the latest survey.

I look at it this way: It’s not often that you get to be the best in
the country at something. So, waddle on Mississippi! Wear your belly
like a badge of honor.

OK, then. What’s for lunch?