Ms. Miles.

Look at that blob waddling down the street. That lady, Ms. Miles, must be a Mcfatty.

Look at Ms. Miles, my middle school religion teacher, stuff her face with that Big Mac. She is a Mcfatty.

Since look at all those tools, including Ms. Miles, standing in line in Mcdonalds. They are all Mcfatties.

The Mcfatty devoured 3 Big Macs and a large fry in one sitting. Her name is Ms. Miles.

When the Mcfatty, Ms. Miles, walked down the hall, I yelled "Earthquake" because she was so morbidly obese the building shook as she walked.

I yelled "Look out!" as the Mcfatty, named Ms. Miles, slowing jiggled towards Will. He would have been trampled and crushed to a gruesome death if I didn't admonish him of the corpulent whale approaching.

"Welcome to Mcdonald's. Can I take your order? **snort**"
My mother-in-law and I gave each other a knowing look. The loudspeaker snort was a dead give-away for Mcfatty inhalation. We bummed a couple of tokes in order to keep quiet, and then headed to the motel with our post-coital snack.

that dude is such a McFatty

Dang, that Mcfatty needs to lay off the fries.

Me: "The Mcfatty sounds like the grossest idea since the roman helmet."
n00b: "GOD I love mcfatties!"