Sorry, Tubby....

If I didn't already have over one million frequent flyer miles on American Airlines, I would switch exclusively to United. Why? Because you won't find slobs like these on board.

God bless the folks from the Friendly Skies. They have announced that, moving forward, if you're too big to fit into one seat, you need to buy two of them. Discrimination? Hell, no. Because just as the guy down at the 7/Eleven doesn't discriminate when you want to buy yourself five or six bags of Cheez Doodles, the people at United aren't discriminating because your ass is wider than the aisle on a 757 because you wanted to buy yourself five or six bags of Cheez Doodles.

This is love as tough as the hide on some of these two ton Tommys and Tessies. If you're looking for sympathy from me, try the Hostess Cup Cake display on the next aisle. You'll go hungry looking for support from me.

Okay, I'm no Michael Phelps. At the same time, I'm not Junior Samples either. I have struggled with up and down weight all my life. But, when I leave my home in the morning, I can depart through the front door. Nobody needs to remove a fourth wall so I can exit. I'm also proud to say that I can place myself comfortably in most public seating. And I'm also proud to say that I have pride. Pride in how I look. Pride in how I dress. Pride in not embarrassing my friends around me. And when my friends are around me, they are not "around" me. The circle does not have a diameter of several miles.

In over ten years of consistent transcontinental travel, I have been lucky with my airline seatmates. The biggest offender next to me on one trip was Carson Kressley from that Queer Eye show and he reeked of not bathing for a year or so---hard-to-fathom bad grooming from a gay guy. But, thankfully, I have never found myself sharing an arm rest with Haystacks Calhoun.

Not to say that I haven't feared it. I always board ahead of other folks and survey the rest of the passengers as I whizz by. Whenever I see one of those unpleasingly plump cows sashaying down the aisle and knocking out windows with every sway of their hips, I say a silent prayer. Over and over and over.

"Please not here. Please not here. Please not here. Please not here."

God is good. He has always answered. But, two trips ago, the guy across from was not so lucky. The middle seat next door would be occupied by some slob close to 350 pounds and carrying a bag of pastries bought at Starbucks. Fat Stuff aimed his ass at the seat and overshot it on both sides by about 50 pounds. He overlapped so much that he literally covered the console controls on the armrest. As Fatso settled in, he gave an apologetic glance to the side. "Ooops. Sorry."

If it had been me, I would have insisted on a move. Anywhere. The back of the plane. The flight attendant jump seat. The wing. I felt badly for the poor man trapped to this 5 X 7 torture chamber. I had no compassion for the pig next to him.

Those sob story lovers in my audience will argue that, perhaps, this man had a glandular condition. Maybe he's on steroids for a life-altering illness. Indeed, maybe he can't help it.

Bullshit. For every case where obesity can't be helped, there are two million other instances where it's simply caused by bad diet. And lots and lots and lots of Twinkies. Hit a fuckin' salad bar once in a blue cheese dressing moon. Your eternal sweet tooth should not impact me in any shape or form literally.

I've already read some reactions to United's new policy. Who will make the ultimate call that Fatty is too, well, fat? As if that's ever a discussion point? Even 325 pounds can't be covered up by a judicious use of black as a wardrobe color choice. And I'm guessing some citizens group---a PETA-like organization devoted to tubs of lard----will start yakking up the notion that fat people have rights, too. The right to fly. The right to travel.

And, realistically in my kingdom, the right to buy a radish instead of a jelly donut.

American Airlines, when does this policy start on your planes?

Dinner last night: Chicken salad sandwich.