Wednesday, January 5, 2011
She doesn’t want to come out and play. I tried bringing her out for “New Me Monday” (as per SIF protocol) but she opted for $1 drafts and pizza. Who am I to deny her Frugal Fattness? It’s not like I was unprepared. At 11:59pm on Sunday evening I hung motivational statements on my mirror in an attempt to put the transition to the other side in perspective. “You are a fat whore. Fat people suck. Your husband won’t bang you bcs weigh more than he does.” I can’t imagine why I wasn’t fired up come Monday morning. In between making homemade “Successories” I saw something staring back at me I didn’t recognize. It sorta looked like me but….. right above the top of my jeans was an inflatable disk that hung against my seams from front to back. It appeared to be extraterrestrial in nature. Aliens trying to get in my jeans? At least someone is. There also appeared to be some sort of handles underneath my shoulder blades? When I stretched my arms to flatten them I gained a cup size as they reformed in the shape of DD breasteses. I attempted to bend over but this mass inhibited me from touching my toes. Definitely some sort of stage 9 cancer. Not sure how I got it. The aliens must have brought it on the space ship. In case you haven’t had the occasion to be in this “situation,” I should warn you…”what lies beneath” is always scarier than what’s staring back. As if one needed more motivation than Diabetes, Death and Divorce….I give you… THE HUGE VAG. Yes sisters I speak the truth. You CAN super size the pink taco without giving birth. Here’s the recipe…1 part MacDonalds, 2 part KFC and 0 part sex. It’s a wonder the thing doesn’t spontaneously combust. Reason #1 to jump on board the “New Me Monday Express”- Big Beaver. That’s all I can really say about that. Oh…except to say if you are a Brother in Fat…it’s not a reciprocal issue. If I thought I could get me some mammoth willy by way of a BIF..I would have been there done thought. Myth busted.
Moving right along. Loser. That’s me. I literally ate myself into a coma between Thanksgiving and New Years, in preparation for the big day of course. I was truly at the point of making myself sick with all the sugar and fat when January 3rd crept up on me. Letting go isn’t easy. It’s like breaking up with an asshole boyfriend. You know it’s the right thing to do yet something compels you to let him linger in the background for rough sex and self pity. I find food very orgasmic. The word “lunch” makes me salivate. That’s the most excitement I get these days. When the word “lunch” equals salad (and not with ranch dressing)…it’s like sex with the hot older guy who forgot to pop the Viagra. What’s the point? If I wanted to eat such trash I would get down on all fours, grow utters and graze with the cows. I think if I were an animal I would be a Chupacabra. Don’t know what that is? Exactly. Hiding out. Eating what I want. People wondering if you are for real. That’s my gig. For now, I’ll have to live in the plus size plethora of phat that is me. It’s out of control. I don’t want to be photographed. For good reason. I saw pictures of me at New Year’s and it looked like I was trying to eat my friends. When your face looks like a weather balloon and your fingers look like dick daggers, it’s best to stay clear of the photogs.
Since coming to grips with my shortcomings, I started thinking about all of the things I “can’t” do. I can’t grow a beard, I can’t grab my dick, I can’t let someone wait on me hand and foot without giving them sex, I can’t fight the Taliban, I can’t cut my own hair and well…it would appear I can’t lose weight. I watch the Biggest Loser. I keep thinking, “If they can do it so can I.” That thought expires at the commercial break when I head downstairs for some Doritos and Peanut M&M’s. What? Dorito breath doesn’t get you sex? Nor does Dorito breath laced with Peanut M&M’s. I was just trying to make a point. I just don’t happen to recall what that point was. Ughum. My point is…do you know there are people eating tapeworms to lose weight? Really?! I eat worms. Gummy worms. I don’t find they reciprocate. Fuckers. My point is…can I get on the Biggest Loser? I’m not 1000lbs but I can work on it. I think Bob is hot. I fear he’s gay. I love the gays. Not sure he would love me at 1000lbs or with a vagina but you never know. I could be his mercy fuck. I’m okay with that. I know this…that Jillian has a penis.
You’ll be pleased to know in the midst of “New Me Monday” which is now “New Me Next Monday,” I am headed off to see my favorite doctor! It’s time to take the Mercedes to Jiffy Lube! One problem. You’ll recall last year’s incident with “dumb nurse” wherein as she single handedly made me lose 20 lbs by reading the scale wrong. That one. My short term goal at that time (12.5 months ago) was to actually lose the 20 lbs and come out even. Goals are for losers. I gained 20lbs (at least). I plan to sell her down the river with some random story of her telling me I needed to gain weight as I was too thin. Or something. I don’t know. Maybe she’ll be working. Problem solved. Unless she got glasses or a clue. This will involve tears. My Dr. was so happy at my fake weight loss. I hate disappointing him. He’s so freaking hot. I wonder if he enjoys looking at vag all day. I wouldn’t. It’s like looking at wrinkled neck fat. Yummy. My dick would be hard when I got home. Not. I wouldn’t want to look at penis all day either. Unless it was hard, 10 inches and ready to strike. I would be ok with that. I’m getting off track…
So…due to “inclimate weather,” New Me Monday has been rescheduled until January 9th. However comma, my Dr. may admit me after realizing I need to be weighed via horse scales. Should this happen, I request to be fed bacon grease by way of an IV. I’m sure my vitals are tragic. They say you should listen to your body. I can’t hear a thing over my ass. Fucker won’t shut up. In any event, if Susan is any sort of friend she will force feed me all weekend and send me home with all sorts of motivational advice to the contrary. Susan, hear my prayer.