Movieline Interviews the Jilted 238 Pounds Shed By The Biggest Loser's Newest Champion
The glitter has already faded from last night's finale of The Biggest Loser, but one side of winning contestant Danny Cahill's story remains to be heard: the fat's side. Movieline put in a call to the 238-pound shapeless mass and found that he was not only available for an interview, but willing to discuss the tumultuous end to his affair with the 39-year-old Broken Arrow, OK, native. After the jump, the heaping stack of blubber discusses good times, bad times, and what he felt were the goals of their courtship.
You made a big splash during the finale. That must've been exciting.
That was kind of cool, right? I don't know. I'm not used to that level of attention. I'm more a veg-to-Game-Show-Network type. I'm used to just chilling inside golf polos or, maybe on a big day, hanging out over a Dockers waistband. "N.B.D." stuff.
No big deal. Hehe.
Danny seemed pretty thrilled to be rid of you. How does that feel?
Honestly, sometimes a partnership doesn't work out. All relationships have an arc, and we had reached the end of ours. I knew he wasn't happy with... well, a few things. First of all, he wasn't happy with where I wanted to go, which was the Maury/Springer "In High School You Said I Was Notty, But Joke's On You! Now I'm A Hottie" circuit. But then he was the one who wanted to make our parting a big thing, and, you know... yeah, it was our organic end.
Do you reflect on the better times with him?
I remember we used to hole up for days at a time in his living room. And it was one of those things where -- like -- you'd just be sharing thoughts about the meaningless of existence, or the steamless caboose that is your life, or whatever. Plus [laughs], he'd try to get up and I'd just hunker him right back down on the couch. I mean, not to get heavy here, but I loved him, you know?
Really, you love him?
You have to love a man to give him huge boobs.
I'll take it easy for a little while. My agent sent me a script for an Eddie Murphy project called Shaquanda, but that has to wait. It's time to "get back to the garden," as Crosby, Stills, and Nash put it, get back to nature, solitude, my life. I've also got to call back Crosby.
Is there any chance of a reunion with Danny?
Never say never. But the bottom line is I wish him the best with whatever slab of fat or bloody urine he decides to befriend next.
Thanks for your time!
My gigantic pleasure. ♦