Sitting here, staring into the grey abyss of my cereal bowl. The foul putrid liquid that softens, and dulls the frosted flakes – turning them into flavorless cardboard husks before my very eyes. How did it come to this? Do I deserve this fate, which is surely worse than death?
Low fat…it’s low fun. It’s flavourless, it’s bland. There is no bacon, no cheese. No syrup, no chocolate – no extras, no treats.
You don’t want diabetes, you don’t want cancer, you don’t want obese bum cheeks…or whatever else they say. So naturally you end up following certain elements of these horrible currents of advice. I’m waiting, not so patiently – for when we begin to celebrate real men or whatever, who have a nice little pouch stomach…like a kangaroo I guess, but not as cute, and well no baby – just gluttony in there. When we begin to celebrate real men for having burger bap nipples, and chaffing thighs – well then I can just let go completely, and will possibly never stop. I can’t wait.
Like I literally can’t wait, so fuck it – I’ll just start now, best to get a head start…right?
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