Brad Armstrong, of Olathe, Kansas, was a /fat/fuck. He had been since childhood. It was because when his abusive alcoholic single father, Marty Armstrong, would beat him or rape his baby sister Lisa, he would retreat into food for comfort.
Because of his weight gain, the bullying it brought with it, and the sexually charged trauma of watching his sister be raped and being occasionally forced to participate, Brad learned to hate himself and his body at an early age, and started secretly practicing karate as a way of pretending he didn't.
Overeating was the beginning of a maladaptive turn toward an addictive personality. It followed Brad into adulthood, at which time, desperate for stronger sensations to blot out the bad memories, he let it progress into alcoholism and hard drug addiction. It didn't help that some sort of hybrid bio-nuclear warfare had supposedly wiped out all women on earth, leaving society in a state of ruin, sexual confusion and frustration, and mass violence.
Everything changed when Brad found an orphaned baby girl alone on the ground with no indication of whom had left her there or what to do with her. He took her under his wing and named her Buddy. Until she was adolescent, taking care of her had helped wean him off drugs and alcohol, but the traumatic memories came back hitting harder than ever. All it took was one pill, and he couldn't stop himself, and once again he barreled headlong into a crippling degree of dependence, isolating himself from his adopted daughter and becoming just as neglectful a father as his own had been abusive.
Feeling unloved and excessively restricted in her daily activities, Buddy ran away from home. Being that she was the only female anyone had seen in decades, it wasn't long before vast, gibbering legions of sweaty old perverts were after her, just as Brad had feared when he took her in.
So what did Brad do? He shaped the fuck up and used his karate skills to keep her safe.
If Brad could make it, we all will.