Down with the fatness

I'm sicking of being tubby. A few years ago I was just carrying a few extra pounds. And I told myself that all I needed to do was cut out 50-60% of my beer intake. Try to keep the drinking down to three days a week instead of eight, I said, because it's affecting your ability to count for one thing and the mayor's office keeps asking you to be in the city parade sporting a giant top hat and your belly button painted as a whistling mouth. But I didn't listen to myself.

Then over the last few months, I convinced myself that beer and midnight pizza were not the cause of my ever-increasing weight. It must be the high-calorie water in Texas. You know how we like to chicken-fry everything. I drink a lot of water each day. Therefore, I said to me, don't blame yourself for getting fired from your dancing gig at La Bare. Your days of getting happy-hour hoes wet are over. Life goes on.

But then the downside of all this started to hit. First, I couldn't fit into my high school letter jacket (for theater) and go down to the mall. Then, the cannibal family next door started inviting and then threatening me to use their hot tub. However, what really took the cake was when I started taking cakes from bakeries and grocery stores and little girls' birthday parties. They say that's how you know you've hit rock bottom.

So now I'm trying to reverse course. But I don't want to change my diet. And I don't want to exercise. And I don't want to staple my stomach. And I don't want to wire my jaw shut for anything other than a bad-ass punch to my face. You can see the bind I'm in.