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As my rippling ass cheeks dragged across the floor, gathering Ding
Dong wrappers while I lumbered across the room, each tree trunk
cankle
quaking the earth like a powerful Tyrannosaurus Rex, I thought
to myself, “Surely I haven't gained as much weight as friends,
family, coworkers and strangers say. They're just jealous of my
wondrous beauty and are trying to make me feel bad so they can feel
good about their ugliness. Well, that is not right and I simply
won't have it!! The elastic on my bloomers is cutting off my
circulation simply because they shrank in the wash. Along with every
other garment I own, including sweat pants and my Shamu Halloween
costume.”
That's when I slapped one beefy flipper on the scale. Then the other. A
horrifying number appeared. A number so terrifying I leapt off the scale and
into the safe confines of my bed. How could it be?! According to this vile
device I weighed 160 ever lovin' pounds!! Fattiest fat fatness of all time.
During dark days past I'd flirted with the big six oh, but never had that
heinous digit actually appear on the scale.
I had allowed couplehood to suck me into a Rosanne and Dan-style food orgy
lifestyle, and as a result I had ballooned into a fleshy seal creature. Hours of
laying and feeding had taken its cruel toll. Well, now I am single and I’ve
resolved to get down to
my ideal weight of 130 pounds. This is very thin for me, as I am a
statuesque supermodel type person and big boned. And I'm not just saying that
you a-hole. The Parks' are known for their sturdy, unbreakable bones. I weighed
10 pounds at birth, 1982's heaviest female baby born at The Queen of the Valley
Hospital, thank you very much (hold your applause).
"I will begin working out in 2.5 weeks to never. Somewhere
in there." I am determined to spend this summer fannying about in
little dresses from Forever 21 made by Indonesian orphans. My
deadline to become a waifish beauty is June 17th, at
which time I will be attending my friend Cortney's fashionable
lesbian wedding clad in some sort of darling mini dress that was
carefully sewn by one of Angelina's future children.
My proposed diet is as follows:
Breakfast - One Grande
(occasionally Venti) sugar free cinnamon dolce latte with an additional espresso
shot from Starbucks. This serves many purposes: it is very tasty, plus the
excess caffeine suppresses the appetite and encourages bowel movements. New
sugar free lattes are a delicious gift from brilliant Starbucks chemists.
Lunch –
Delectable, fresh sushi made daily at Safeway by two Japanese rice masters. My
favorite would have to be the tempura roll which resembles a large turd placed
atop a bed of decorative lettuce.
Dinner - 1/2
Ambien** used to
roofie myself into unconsciousness before I have the chance to eat.
Eventually I will become accustomed to this brutal diet and ween myself off of
the Ambien. Oprah's dieting guru, Bob Greene, wisely states that one’s body
wants to slenderize itself at night. It would like to go into its fat cabinet to
dispose of fats, but is unable to when you eat at night. Bob also says that a
dieter should just change food intake for the first month and begin working out
on the second month because doing both at once is too overwhelming. I will begin
working out in 2.5 weeks to never. Somewhere in there.
Snacks -
Small nibbles of stinky cheese. I have a newfound love of smelly cheese and a
new job that provides me with a 60% discount on an array of the finest and
stinkiest cheeses in the land.
In addition to this monk-like eating plan, I will minimize, if not abstain
from the booze. Unfortunately, my new job in a winery will make it difficult to
stare at those shiny enticing bottles all day.
The day of darkness (the day I weighed 160… repulsive) was April 13th. Follow
my journey as I transform my Marshmallow Man carcass into a slender goddess'
physique. I will update my progress next week and
you can diet along with me, fatass!
**Be careful with Ambien. One time I was drunk and took two Ambien while
sharing a bed with my friend Sarah. Around 5am I got up, took off my pants and
underwear and peed on them—not in them, on top of them. Then I awoke half
nude in her bed thinking she had raped me. Actually I still think she did,
pervert.
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