The TLC Series “1,000 Pound Sisters” has become a sneaky success, ballooning to a number 1 cable show among women between the ages 25-54 in March, a key demographic, while the second season averaged 1.5 million views.

The two-season reality TV series, which has been approved for a third due later this year, follows sisters Amy and Tammy Slaton, who run a popular YouTube channel from their home in western Kentucky.

Averaging around 1,000 pounds between them at the show’s launch — before Amy began to lose the weight — the two jolly and morbidly obese women in flyover country are easy to mock and ripe for reality television, as they allow crews chronicle their glutenous lives for a nationwide audience.

They eat copious amounts of sodium, sweets, and fatty junk food, go on a diet plan, go off the diet plan, go back on the diet plan, go back off the diet plan, and joke about it along the way as they struggle with the life-threatening condition that is obesity, which promises to kill them in the long-run while it weighs them down until then.

The cycle is all too familiar with millions of Americans across the country, 42 percent of which were qualified as “obese” in 2017-2018 by the Centers for Disease Control.

The Slaton sisters are popular because they are so familiar to a large swath of the country that can relate to them, and to another that is curiously captivated by the spectacle. The latter includes the elites who produced them, supplying the Slaton sisters, and their relatable fans outside the ruling class, with the means to become addicted to screens and sugar. They are in turn mocked with a modern-day version of the fat lady circus tent.

Neither the Slaton sisters nor those they embody are exonerated of personal agency. At the end of the day, obesity comes down to personal choices. It’s nauseating to watch those on TLC’s similar “My 600-Lb Life” work their brains into knots to relieve people of responsibility with excuses for failing to meet the doctor’s goals.

While decrying their sources of wealth as uncultured creatures who inhabit a mythical flyover country, our elites created the sort of depravity that now entertains them on screen. Corporate America drugged them up with addictive sugary substances processed in legalized meth labs and now parades them on national television as something to look at from the luxury of a metropolitan apartment atop a Whole Foods and Soul Cycle.

The corporate establishment has now jumped at the opportunity to capitalize on obesity, normalizing the deadly condition despite the massive wake-up call the COVID crisis presented on America’s weight.

While it might stop at food on “1,000 Pound Sisters,” the story is the same of broader addictions strangling the working class from pharmaceuticals to illicit substances. When they’re not vilified with the liberalized label of racist, particularly for opposition to illegal immigration as fentanyl continues to flood the southern border, they’re derided as crack-addicted freak shows who make for some quality entertainment for the “cultured” elites who profit from them.