Inspirational Reads

I Give Up

February 26, 2014

There are a few things in this life that I really like.  Boobs is one of them...or two of them, since they usually travel in pairs.  Unless you're on Mars.  Wait, did the lady with three boobs make it into the remake of Total Recall?  Damn, she made me wish I had three hands.

I might have digressed, but given the subject material, you probably understand.  I mean, it's boobs.  They're GREAT!  I'm getting off-track again, aren't I?

I also like food.  I mean, who doesn't like food?  Well, I had a room mate in college who, I suspect, didn't like food.  He didn't like what food did to him; his body did strange things with various foods.  They were not exactly allergic reactions, but he would develop nodes on his vocal chords or have gastric issues and such depending on how his diet varied.  He didn't like food.  I kind of understand.  Okay, I lied.  You're talking to someone who drinks beer, even though his throat tightens up when the sweet, delicious nectar of the hops oils hits his adenoids.  I totally don't get not liking food.

My former room mate was forced to give up various foods so that they did not wreak havoc with his innards.  We used to joke that he would eventually just filter feed from the air and wash it down with water.  Drunk, nerdy college kids come up with stuff like filter-feeding as a solution to your problems.  It's a wonder I didn't get laid more in college...

At the beginning of the year, when most people were resolving to lose weight or quit smoking or stop cruising high schools in black vans with ether-soaked rags, I decided to give up ice cream.  Just give it up.  Drop it completely.  No more.  Cold turkey. 

*crickets*

Okay, that may have been a bad pun. 


A couple of years ago, I was pushing 1/6 of a ton (kind of puts it in perspective, doesn't it, when you do the fractional math) and I was miserable.  Everything hurt, I couldn't sleep, really bad apnea, so I took up hobbies that got me more active, lowered my caloric intake, and amazingly I lost around 50 to 60 pounds.  I made it back down to my college weight.  Well...the weight I was when I graduated college.  I was still in college; therefore, it was my college weight.  I've mostly held steady since, though I'd like to drop another thirty pounds or so.  And no, motherfuckers, I'm not cutting bacon out of my diet.  I will cut a bitch if you suggest that.

In order to help achieve this goal, I'm trying to cut back on the calories again, hoping that, when the weather improves, I can get more active outdoors and help make the final push for my high school weight.  But, man, it's hard.  I love ice cream.  I love ice cream almost as much as I love blow jobs (but still below boobs--you people know how awesome boobs are, right?), so giving ice cream up was a real sacrifice.  Sure, I gave it up in January, when it's cold, and ice cream doesn't sound that appealing.

Well, I would never turn down a blow job in January.  So there.  Sacrifice.  No matter how you slice it.

The thing that I found, though, was that I was substituting something else for ice cream.  Oh, here, let's have a cookie or a cupcake, it's fine, you're not eating ice cream.  Have half a pizza!  Those slices are small.  Better yet, here's a tub of Crisco with some chocolate shavings in it.  Have at it, Blubbo.  So, I've given up cookies, too.  I reserve the right to enjoy a canoli from time to time.

What?  Who doesn't love a delicious tube filled with white cream?

The problem is, cookies rank right below ice cream and blowjobs.  So far, I've been pretty good--I've been cookie-free for, like, a week.  Despite the fact that I have been doing Girl Scout cookie booths and selling those sweet, delicious little bastards (and the cookies, too), I have yet to succumb to the pressing cookie urges.  Our friends at McDonald's remembered that it's spring, so they've trotted the Shamrock Shakes back out, just to smear that shit in my face.  Fuckers.

So far, I've been able to withstand the siren song of both the GS cookies and the Shamrock Shakes, but, Lord Jesus, it's hard.  It's so hard.  So.  Damned.  Hard.

Maybe next I'll work on giving up sexual puns.

5 comments:

Frank Irwin said...

Who needs a third hand when you have a mouth?

Also, if I suggest that you can give up bacon, do I get to select the bitch that you'll cut? Are you willing to go to Mexico City to do so, or can you wait until she comes back up to Texas, in April?

MJenks said...

I can work with you here. You get the joy of having a particular bitch cut; I can work out some of my stabbiness. Win/win for both of us, Frank.

I still like Al Bundy's suggestion that the third hooter should be on the woman's back. You know, for dancing.

Scope said...

Does you withdrawal from McDondald's minty melty malteds give you the ...

wait for it ...

the Shamrock Shakes.

MJ said...

Hi-yo!!!

Don't forget to tip your wait staff!

SkylersDad said...

Please don't ever give up the puns... Or receiving blow jobs.