Downhill From Here

The worst thing is to be run over by a car driven by someone you went to high school with, outside the bus stop where you start your perilous journey to work every single day. Now you have 20 inch thread marks across your leg to match the scars that serve as a constant reminder of your inexperience with a trampoline and/or tequila. Worst part is she doesn’t even recognize you. No, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that she stopped, and she looks like what
Madonna would’ve looked like had she been the love child of Beyonce and that lady from the Valentino adverts. Her tone is condescending. She assumes she’s older than you. Like a priest sweet talking an altar boy, she feigns sympathy. She smells like a thousand Parisian bakeries on fire. Then she touches your knee. You’re not prepared for this, and then suddenly you wake up.

That’s your dreams now. The 22 minutes of sleep you are rationed to per night are spent. Time to lie awake for six and half hours and worry. It starts after a hard day of being irrelevant and unsightly. Somehow you stagger home to noise, fish fingers and a second helping of disappointment. You may be thinking things will get better. You can grow, you can learn, there’ll be sunshine. I’m here to reassure you that it probably won’t. In fact, it may get worse.

Rationally, you’ll say, we’ll evolve. Evolution is garbage. Ignore the resemblance between your grandfather and the lead actor in Planet of the Apes. On close inspection you’ll find we’ve progressed just an inch away from The Primordial Ooze, if there was ever such a thing. Terrorists want to blow you up. Rappers want to swear at your Mum. Teenage girls want to shackle you to fatherhood. What’s their urgency anyways? Does menopause come early now? It’s probably the fifty growth hormones they inject into chicken. Speaking of chickens, I hate them. The whole point of eating meat is to kill something worth killing. There’s no honor in killing a tiny, flightless bird. You could step on it. Unlike, say a sheep, which you have to chase through a field carrying a knife.

My net tolerance for vegetarians is very low, probably negative even. They are a waste of sharp teeth. You are supposed to eat the animals. I’m sure even Jesus had a penchant for roast goat (yum). There’s limited uses for a cow otherwise, and if you don’t reign their population in by eating them, they’ll be in your yard challenging your cat for territory, which is an entirely awkward affair you should strive to avoid. I maybe will understand if you’re a vegetarian by religion, but not by being some counter-cultural, pan-sexual hippie. There’s a lot of that nowadays – young people who inhale latte’s and despise food for being too meh (more on the plague of young people in another post). The skinny, chic ultra-socialites who compound you with guilt every time you reach for a sandwich. “I hate when people die for food!”, they say. Without food you will die. I know. I saw some pictures. Ironically, they are the ones who shared it on Facebook  The pictures of the unfabulously skinny African children who you can feed with one Like. What power. Make no mistake though, Obesity is a thing. A big thing.

I saw a guy so fat, men stare at his chest. At some point he must have looked down and asked, “Where the hell are my toes?”. Eat as much you like. Just burn the calories. I found I get quite a workout from hating things. You may be wondering if gaining weight could emphasize your personality. Let me throw a shovel at your head right now. There’s a tremendous euphoria that comes from being in shape. Let me also dispel the theory that woman have of big-sized guys. The one of them being fluffy, fun, nice and misunderstood. I can honestly say, from years of experience monitoring obese people as an unofficial Government unsanctioned intelligence agent, that most of them are bitter and generally horrible. And why not, they are obese in a shallow, image-obsessed society. It’s like being a white guy in a taxi rank. The problem stems from bad parenting (as do most issues). Daddy shuts noisy-annoying-fidgety offspring up by shoving cake in his face. Years later and he still numbs the neglect with more cake.

Fat Level: American

Well whatever. Whatever you are or want to be, it’s all the same. Life is a surreal existence that parades in front of you all the the things you want, all the things that will kill you. It’s your choice how you want to di – I mean live. The issue is that you have a tendency towards poor choices. Look at your haircut.


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