Sunday, July 30, 2006

The Yogurt Monologues (Part I)

Something finally snapped. After years of contemplating, failed planning, abandoned attempts, bitching, whining - and don’t forget the all-important moaning – I have finally begun to diet in earnest.

For the past week, I have started eating more vegetables and less Quarter Pounders, forgone second helpings, snubbed my nose at desserts, made healthier decisions, and started a strict exercise regiment of power walking in the evenings. Seven-whole-fucking-days...and I haven't strayed from the plan, or stabbed myself in the forehead with a grapefruit knife.

Yep, it’s ‘Yogurt Time’.

People have already started to ask me why I’ve only now decided to attempt to loose some weight. They offer me all the usual explanation synopses that they may have had get healthier, feel better about myself, wanting to live longer, etc. But honestly, my reasoning is a little more self-indulgent and pointed.

I want to get laid *.

Now, lets get one thing straight – I CAN have sex. But for once in my life, I want the good freaky monkey kind of sex. Not the labored, slapping, pathetic kind of sex that fat people have. You know - the kind of sex that resembles two hippos butting heads on the African Plains. Lord knows I’ve shed enough tears in my life that I shouldn’t have to cry during sex either. When I next get around to doing the deed, I want the body and energy of a Russian circus acrobat so that I can really enjoy me some hot bendy sex.

But whatever my reasoning, my diet is not without it’s price.

At the moment, my body makes me feel like the Six Million-Dollar Man before the surgery. I can picture my dietician standing over my bloated and broken body: “Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology”. But soon it will be different. I will be better than I was before. Better, Stronger, Faster. Able to boink with the focused longevity of any porn star. It may not exactly be Romantic poetry, but it’s the truth. I already have blisters the size of silver dollars on my heels to prove the seriousness of my efforts.

The real amazement in dieting for me is that eating more vegetables give you gas. Who knew? Now as I walk down the street in the evenings I’m constantly ripping farts like an old man at a prune stand. Some evenings, I’m sure my neighbors don’t know if it’s just me in the distance, or a flock of ducks coming down the street as they enjoy their coffees on the front porch.

But who said that loosing weight was ever going to be pretty? It’s just going to have to be the cross that I will have to bear.

I’m a victim here after all. Not just a victim of mass marketing and fast food consumerism, but of the new “Fat Gene” theory those Nutritionists are now proposing. I knew there was something unholy about my constant cravings for cheeseburgers. And like most victims, I’m just going to have to find a way of incriminating society for my suffering and demand federal assistance. Or, I can try to rise above it all, or at least off the couch, and do something constructive about it.

Scientists are now theorizing that obesity is a developed genetic disorder that wills people to eat extensively. We are literally powerless against the natural drive to consume food. This definitely shakes up the common notion that fat people are lazy, gluttonous, and weak willed.

No, sir! We’re helpless victims.

Researchers suggest that this gene, known as ‘lipin’, may be inherited and makes us more susceptible to the threat of high-calorie, high-variety, super-tasty convenience foods that have come to dominate the landscape. Yeah, another reason to be upset with your parents.

"I didn’t really want eat that third slice of pie, my parents genes made me do it!"

Whatever.

Making healthier decisions is tricky business though. Produce stands are definitely less inviting than any Golden Arches that may dot the horizon like Neon monoliths. But I need to do this. I need to sweat; I need to suffer; I need to eat more greens and be miserable for it. I need to loose some fucking weight.

Nothing will keep me from my freaky monkey sex.

And so begins my journey.

(to be con'd...)

* Being able to see my penis will be a bonus as well.

1 Comments:

Blogger moofruot said...

YES. I hear you... need to drop 20lbs by next summer. No excuses anymore.

Good luck on your quest for crazy animal sex. I aspire for the same.

9:29 PM  

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