Ok, call me thunkful, but when I watch her stupid mukbangs, this same scenario plays out in my head every time. Chantal, if you are out there, consider this:
Imagine if you met Chantal for the first time over dinner, never having seen her videos. Let's say you came across a dating profile of hers somewhere, and decided to meet at a local restaurant. First, you'd be confronted by a massive beast with a potato head after you had stared at that sculpted face of a skinny cute girl in her profile pic for days. It is unlikely you'd even recognize her; she would have to come lumbering up to you. After recovering from your considerable shock, you'd be well within your rights to turn around and leave her then and there due to her grossly dishonest portrayal of herself. But you're a gentleman, so you follow through with the promised dinner, despite her appearance. You're not a bigot, you tell yourself. Maybe she is a fascinating woman once you get to know her...
So, you sit down for a meal, and notice immediately that she has revolting table manners. She juts her schnozz right onto the food. She stabs at the plate with a babyfist. She licks her fingers, drops food from her mouth, picks food off of herself and eats it, licks her fingers more... You are confronted with her rolling her eyes back into her head so that only the whites remain visible every few bites.
Within minutes, she is discussing her own shit. She also babbles weird nonsense about carbs, intuitive eating, negative energy, carcinogens, and a multitude of crazy diet strategies, but all roads lead back to another shit story from this 400-pound monolith who looks nothing like that profile picture and who seems to always suffer from massive diarrhea... All of this babble is punctuated with utterly inappropriate and shrill "hee hees" that carry across the restaurant loudly. You notice other diners glancing at you from the corners of their eyes and muttering something to their dinner companions... Your date talks more about dieting, more about shit, slanders a few doctors, and babbles about nutrition again. Then, another funny story about a shit she took.
You lose your appetite completely. You see Chantal lustfully eyeing your uneaten food, but you get the waiter to take it away fast. You are ready to go, but Chantal orders a banana split for dessert. As she plops a whole scoop of it into her mouth at once, cherry and all, her eyes roll backwards in her head, and she tells you "Shhh! I said shhh!!" with a crooked smile.
A few shots of whiskey or maybe a few glasses of Everclear might help you get through dinner, but Lord help you if you get drunk enough to go home with her... We already know what awaits you there, and it ain't a can of Pringles...
This scenario is no bizarre speculation or fantasy; it is how she actually projects herself, day in and day out. Could there be a date from hell more hellish than dinner with Chantal?
Oh, and the less Chantal says about her underwear, the better. They've been through the fucking wars, and the war isn't over yet. If you do wind up at her house after dinner, don't touch the furniture...
