I think I’m overweight. Actually, I know I’m overweight. I’ve had holes in my jeans before, but I’ve never had a two-inch gash where my crotch goes. I’m splitting my pants right down the middle, like a vivisected turkey on Thanksgiving. I’m losing my tenuous grip on physical attractiveness. I see my hair thinning, my posture worsening and my bank account dwindling. My fitness is all I have left to stave off being completely abandoned by the opposite sex.
I could buy new pants, but that costs money. Jeans aren’t getting cheaper. I could sew the hole closed in the jeans and pray that they won’t rip again. My most viable option is to simply lose some weight. While that would put a strain on my busy schedule of ordering Domino’s Pizza and watching a self-made montage of all the sex scenes from Game of Thrones, it is the most practical choice.
Going about actually shedding pounds is trickier than just improving dietary habits or regularly exercising. No, that’s the easy way out. That’s the game suckers play. I’m no sucker, and I’m sure you aren’t either. You’re so not a sucker that you’re going to read the following five weight loss tips and accept them into your life without employing any critical thinking skills.
Bear in mind that these are untested by any human being. I tried one of my solutions on my pet Corgi, ‘Sir Francis Drake,’ but he developed a mysterious gastrointestinal disorder and we had to start force-feeding him through a large tube. Poor guy gets his Puppy Chow pumped into him by what looks like a vacuum cleaner attachment! That’s no way to treat a nobleman, is it?
Eat half of everything. That plate of nachos you get at Chevy’s is really for 3 people. Every time you order it, you finish the whole thing by yourself. Why do you do that? Is it because you have no friends to come to Chevy’s with you? Is it because dining out is your only respite from a life of quiet desperation? Is it due to the fact that you are trying to impress the cute hostess who actually has zero interest in fat dudes? Yes, yes and yes, but it’s also because you’re a glutton. Start eating only have half the nacho plate. Save the rest for the drive home!
Have a child. When I tell people this one, they get instantly skeptical. They say, “Dave, honestly, how does having a kid stop me from being obese?” The answer is simple. You will never be able to feed yourself after having children. They will take up all your time, energy and patience. Plus, you will go broke trying to take care of them on your meager salary earned in whatever industry currently employs you. My guess is food service.
Work in food service. Nothing will encourage you to eat less more than watching a man who has clearly not bathed recently slinging hash in the back of a poorly ventilated truck stop diner. Not only will you lose tons of weight, but you will also meet plenty of interesting characters. When I worked at the Blueberry Hill Cafe off the 99 in Chowchilla, California, I met a guy named Thumbs. His name was Thumbs because no one in the diner cared to ask him his real name, so one day I started calling him Thumbs. I always wanted to meet a guy named Thumbs, and then I did. This is the sort of fascinating anecdote you can have if you work at the Blueberry Hill Cafe. Actually, you can’t work at the Blueberry Hill Cafe. It was demolished to make way for a new freeway. Sorry. Thumbs is dead, too. The food there is terrible for you.
Start eating food you hate. So simple, and yet no one with my intellect has ever articulated this foolproof plan for weight loss success. Make a spreadsheet full of foods you detest. Most people list items like ‘brussels sprouts,’ ‘anchovies,’ ‘Quiznos,’ and other things that barely qualify as edible. Only eat those. Before you know it, you’ll never be eating. A steady diet of not eating creamed corn and Rice-a-Roni will have you looking like pre-sanity Nicole Richie before the year is over.
Listen to Rihanna’s “Birthday Cake” song ten times a day. I made my dog, Sir Francis Drake, listen to “Birthday Cake” at regular intervals of every two hours for a full month. Do not ask me why I did that. It was for science, OK?
The point is that he stopped barking. He stopped wagging his tail. He stopped running around the house. Most importantly, he stopped eating. There’s something about Rihanna’s voice, the tawdry sexuality or the obnoxious, overwrought production in that song that rendered Sir Drake incapable of even the most rudimentary task. He was depressed, which led to serious medical problems. That depression is something he has yet to shake. I’ve never seen a dog consumed with so much ennui and despair in my life. The song is terrible, but is it… that terrible? Is it really offensive enough to make a dog go on a hunger strike with no end in sight? Apparently so. Let’s just pray the Russians don’t weaponize this song and use it against our boys in Vietnam, eh?
[EDITOR’S NOTE: The dog is ok now. Dave played a bunch of old Bobby Brown cassette tapes and that cheered him up. As a matter of fact, he ate a whole bag of Baked Lays by himself. Dogs don’t usually eat potato chips, but they’re Baked, so it’s OK, right?]