SPLENETIC & CALORIC

My wife Betty is fat.

I'm no Jack LaLanne myself but Betty is a house.

  Getting fat doesn't happen overnight. Actually, it's rather hard and methodical work. One has to be fairly consistent in one's behavior. It's not a simple matter of eating a lot. One has to be careful to eat a lot of the wrong foods in disadvantageous combinations while expressing an extremely torpid attitude toward physical activity.

Basically you have to consume a great deal more calories than you actually need, every single day for an extremely long period of time with little or no deviation.

Betty during better days

I have to give my wife Betty a lot of credit. She doesn't let those fit fancy Hollywood actresses make her feel bad or self-conscious. Every weekend she straps on a tight bathing suit and spends whole days at the local municipal pool cooling off from our relentless summer heat.

I don't trust thin people. Their conspicuous self-denial is to them a badge of virtue whereas to me it's a futile abjuration of all things sensual and delicious.

Life is short and basically miserable. If a grilled cheese sandwich and a large Coke can mitigate the unrelenting pain, where's the harm? Between existential angst and a bag of potato chips I willfully lean toward the latter.

Thin folks are way too wholesome, consistently untrustworthy and above of all, unvaryingly attractive.

Uch!