Tuesday, August 16, 2005

blogging makes you fatter

(When I say "you," I mean me. And when I say "blogging," I mean "shoveling food in your piehole.")

Contrary to appearances, I take this blog seriously. Not so much that I have serious content, but I'm pretty diligent with trying to post regularly. It is my goal to post at least weekdaily and should I miss this expectation, I do feel the guilt. There are at least three people who I'm quite sure would stare harshly at the main page were I not to "deliver the goods" as it were. These people can go to hell. I mean, who am I D.A.R.Y.L?

Getting back on topic, I had the unfortunate happenstance of seeing myself in the mirror shirtless. While I quickly thought of two prize-winning Halloween costumes (Stay-Puft and Michelin Tire guy), on the whole I was kind of disgusted. Normally, I enjoy a vigorous jog after work, but as of late, the weather (oppressively hot) and the blogging (oppressively dull) have precluded me from partaking in this ritual. The results are unencouraging. For some reason, my body sees fit (get it?) to store fat for as long as possible and generally refrains from engaging in any uninitiated metabolic activity. Why? I'm not sure, but I've thought long and hard of a way to spin this to make me seem better than everyone else . . .

The best I can figure is that I'm actually from a slightly more evolved species than the rest of you. (I've dubbed this species homo sapiens awesomuss.) You see, back in the day food supplies were unsure. If you slaughtered an unsuspecting wildebeest, you had meals for a few days before you either ran out (grubby caveman associates) or the meat went rancid (grubby maggot associates). You had to eat what you could and hope you found some sticks to munch on before you starved. Because what if the wildebeest wise up? Your body is forever needlessly burning calories, killing off your chances of survival. My body is storing, always storing, the food as fat. Who will survive the next drought? Klorg McFatty, that's who.

Unfortunately for me and my fuzzy white gut, this trait is unnecessary for those of us living within three miles of a McDonald's. My mutation yields little advantage. (I guess it would come in handy on Survivor.) But don't let that fool you. So help me if you get between me and my heath blizzard I will roll you like a joint.


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