It May Be Time for a Diet...

See? This is what happens when you  have a fat ass.  Men in ugly coats try to shoot you with rifles.

I was waddling around Boston this week when I realized…I was waddling. I’m afraid that I may have gone a little too far with that New Year’s resolution about getting sloppy fat just because I knew it was one I could keep. The truth is that if you put a couple of sticks between my thighs, I could make it in the wilderness because the friction would start a nice fire. But then, the goddamned duck hunters would find me.

So. Before I end up with an ass full of buckshot, I’m thinking it’s time to get serious about losing some of my ass. Now, it isn’t that I haven’t been thinner before or that I don’t know all about dieting. I admit that the past year’s expansion has been due to my inactivity. BUT. Said inactivity isn’t completely my fault as I am not the fucktard who spilled water in the drink aisle at the big box store I shall call Fall Mart. Nevertheless, it is now I who must take charge of the mess otherwise known as my body.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say that if you want to lose weight, “Just watch what you eat.” So I decided to try it. I huffed all the way down to Dunkin’ Donuts, and I watched the bagels. I watched the croissants. I watched the pastries. And I did not lose a freaking ounce. In fact, I’m pretty sure I gained poundage because I got bored watching the crullers, so I ended up buying 3 chocolate cake, 2 Irish crème, and a jelly-filled. Obviously watching what you eat does not work. Fucking liars.  

I’ve also tried that brilliant advice about “burning more calories than you consume.” First, I calculated the number of calories I take in during a typical day. Then, I looked up the number of calories burned per hour of doing my favorite exercise. So at 86 calories per hour, I would have to cook, like, 50 hours in a day to lose weight. Obvs, someone didn’t think this shit through.

And another thing is that the more you weigh, the more calories you burn per hour. A 100-pound person burns 114 calories per hour of housecleaning. But a 250-pound person burns 284 calories for the same damned thing. That is not fair. By my figuring, I’ve got to weigh, like, 750 pounds and clean house for 5 hours a day to get thin. I just don’t see that happening because I can barely vacuum now.

I don’t know. It’s getting critical since I have to buy my clothes in the camping section now. The color selection in pup tents is butt-ugly. I know this because I was just at the sporting goods store looking for an official Duck Dynasty Duck Commander Duck Call. Hell, while I’m trying to surround myself with a paddling of ducks for protective cover, I might as well be trendy.

Old People who Dress Like the Olsen Twins

A Fashion-Don't-EVER.

Dooky-brown, polyester knit trousers. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww. No one—NO ONE— looks good in these, and I can’t for the life of me figure why anyone “designed” these ugly fuckers. 

Come on! Who would buy these pants and think, “Yeah! These will look great with my white tennis shoes and short-sleeved, plaid shirt that has absolutely no brown in it and an off-white cardigan?” Who? Ohhh. Yeah. I know who. Male community college teachers. You know. The ones with so much dandruff that you just think the cardigan is off-white? Jesus. How can those bastards not see all the half-dollar-sized flakes of old, crackly skin that adhere to their liver-spotted scalps and three spindly grey hairs like extra-giant-head-lice snow sleds? Do they not realize the wife quit buying corn flakes years ago? Do they not have a clue that they walk around scenting the world with their essence of funeral home? And what about that pasty white shit in the corners of their mouths that wiggles and snaps when they speak? How can they miss that when they glue in the dentures each morning? Rinse, for God's sake!

I have just discovered a wonderful way to lose lots of weight. It’s even better than NutriSystem ®. I am going to picture that fellow who brushed by me this morning on the way to his classroom. I will see the stark contrast of the white sneakers below the too-short brown slacks. I will imagine the aroma of death and antiques. I will conjure the image of great chips of dead skin floating toward me. And I will never be able to eat again.