DAY 50: Friday, November 27, 2009:  You didn’t try out for the football team; you were the football team.

Not to be the devil’s advocate, but there are some fat people who made it work:

Alfred Hitchcock

Rosanne

John Candy

John Belushi

Jackie Gleason

Berl Ives

It’s hard to envision them shredded or just thin, and yet . . . only Rosanne is still alive, below the neck.  Hold it . . . let me Google Gleason . . .

Yeah; died in ‘87.

Alrighty then!  Weight loss is healthy!  Happy Black Friday (in America).  They can rush the damn stores at 4:00 a.m. to save fiddy cents on tooth paste; I’m sleepin’ in.

DAY 44: Saturday, November 21, 2009: Could you shout louder please?  Your head is out in the middle somewhere.

Oprah’s big announcement.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .

I remember Andrew Dice Clay when he was actually funny, talking about Oprah losing weight and looking thin.

Then he took a drag on his cigarette and said, “Yeah . . . I can wait.”

And she blossomed again, ruining thousands of people trying to follow whatever fad diet was going on at the time, because their entire willpower depended on a popular talk show host.

Why is she so popular?  Why are we interested in celebrities, which don’t really exist in any other species, unless you count kissing-up out of fear.  Monkeys kiss-up to the head honcho, and lions bow before the old alpha male.  Maybe that’s it; like alpha males (ands females), celebs also get booty at will, like cable on demand.  Now there’s something to respect.

Celebrities must appear so superior to some people, with money and contacts and percieved power, that a kind of instinctual survival kiss-up kicks in, and people have to pay homage by watching the celebrity’s every move.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Paul Newman has his “Hole in the Wall” camp a few miles from our house, and I saw him a few times at a local restaurant called The Midway.  I sat beside him at the bar once, but watched a football game and never said a word.  I usually never start conversations with strangers, so why should he be any different?

Then one day I brought my baby daughter in there for take-out, and he remarked how cute she was, so I told her very loudly,  “Honey, we never talk to strange old men” . . . and Newman had a good laugh.

So that’s my quick celebrity moment, and I guess it was cool, that Butch Cassidy said hi to my little daughter before he passed on, but he was just a very talented guy in front of a camera, ya know? 

And a class act who helped (and still helps) terminally ill kids.

Now THAT’S a celebrity, and I have to admit: I buy his sauce, popcorn, salad dressing . . . okay, anything with his face on it.

Oh . . . once Roundhouse Rodney stayed at our house!  He was a sidekick to Casy Jones and his lunch show out in Minnesota for little kids, and, and . . . “Arriving on Track Eleven!”   And, and . . . 

Screw it.  Stick to the diet. 

DAY 43: Friday, November 20, 2009:  The pizza delivery service is considered extended family.

Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh.

The long-winded pizza exclamation above — like myself — is an optical illusion. Start at the beginning and move your eyes along the word at a steady pace; it will actually appear as if certain sections become fatter and thinner, just like you on this spectacular and insulting diet plan!

Certain women have noticed the exact same thing about my . . . dog’s tail.  Which is code for “penis”.

HA!  You thought I was avoiding another dark journey into Man Town!?!  Not on your life!  NOT WITH THE WEEKEND JUST HOURS (and hours and hours) AWAY!  PUT THE CHILDREN TO BED AND CRANK IT UP!  YOU’VE BEEN DIETING FOR 43 FRIGGIN’ DAYS, AND LOOK LIKE A BUFFED RE-CREATION OF WHAT THE FRENCH CALL . . . I DON’T KNOW WHAT!!!

Alrighty then.  Have a pizza and light beer to clebrate.  Or several thousand.  Piece out . . . which is code for “slice the pizza into tasty triangles”.

PIECE OUT!

DAY 41: Wednesday, November 18, 2009: When it rains, your feet stay dry.

Another oldie but goodie.  Check the archives for early posts if you’re catching-up, they describe the workout plan, which can easily be modified by adding more distance to the runs, reps or weight to the upper body exercises, etc.

Or just dig the insults every day and wave hello from the dark side of the moon.  Perhaps I’ll offer some short whips to punish ourselves with, and some salt.

Oh yeeeeeah . . . be cool.  Thanks for stopping by!

DAY 36: Friday, November 13, 2009: You buy clothes from the tent maker.

Ouch . . . I had to use that old joke.  Omar was the tent maker, a stereotypical name years before his ethnic background was a major problem for a lot of people these days.  It’s a good wrestler’s name: Omar the Terrible!  It’s also what people call their moms in some southern areas of the U.S., as in “Oh mar, let me drive ya to the Suds n’ Soak.”

Speaking of the South, I was watching Survivor tonight, and that hot blonde Belle Natalie caught a rat for everyone to share.  She caught it in a skimpy bikini.  Natalie . . . not the rat.

Makes the Insult Diet seem pretty mild, eh?  As the Southern French say, “Bone appa tit!” 

Day 27: Wednesday, November 4, 2009: You grew a beard once, on several chins.

I have succumbed to temptation, and am now officially involved in my own diet plan.

Call me a crash test dummy for my own brutal sports car, but I’ve been inspired by the thousands of cards and letters you’ve all sent, or is it the few scattered comments — most of which are spam? — I forget . . . it really doesn’t matter.

The thing is, I’m there for you in heart and soul, suffering the first few days of the insult diet, and feeling damn good about it.

Stay the course, and listen to that drill sarge in your head.

DAY 26: Tuesday, November 3, 2009:  You don’t swim, you Tsunami.

Rhymes with salami, which is tasty but not good for you in large quantities.

I’m watching the Phillies play the Yankees, thinking about how certain foods are associated with cities and states, like Philly cheese steak, whatever the hell that is.

Boston Baked Beans, baked Alaska, Texas chili, and Minnesota Fats.

Seattle Slim is what we’re after, if only slim was a food item. 

Fat certainly is.

Day 6:  Wednesday, October 14, 2009:  Your doctor never says to lose weight, he just marvels and takes pictures.

This is where a cycle is recognized, like your dirty little secrets (drugs, alcohol, buying Hannah Montana CDs).

Yesterday was an upper body attack, so today is back to the lower, starting with that tiny fifteen minute portion of General McChrystal’s hour long run, despite certain muscles using the nervous system to cry like a bunch of wimps.

Don’t worry; do some good stretching and start your jog, the pain will quickly be replaced by dizziness and nausea.

MOTIVATION FOR RUNNING

Just kidding!  It gets easier and easier from now on, so run well, and when you’re done, start attacking the gut with sets of crunches and leg lifts.

Do as many reps as you can, resting a good minute or even two between six sets.

Remember; aspirin or mild pain killers are your friend before bed.  The muscles relax and you may sleep a lot better.  Keep eating small meals every two hours.  A big reward is coming on Friday.

DAY 5:  Tuesday, October 13^th, 2009:  When you fall down, it’s just like that boulder in Indiana Jones.

Yesterday you ran for fifteen minutes, so your legs are going to get a nice break.  It’s time to abuse your upper body:  Assume the classic push-up position, but place your hands on the floor so that the tips of your thumbs and index fingers touch, forming a triangle in the space between.  This will put a lot of work on your triceps, and you should feel them burn very quickly.  It’s also going to punish your deltoids.

Do cheaters if you have to, using knees instead of toes, doing reps until it gets strenuous. 

Switch to curls between the push-up sets, so that now you’re alternating between biceps and triceps.  Try to bang out at least six sets of each, although ten is ideal. Use small dumbbells or rocks, whatever it takes to pump those biceps, with a weight you can do about thirty times for the first set, watching it decrease in numbers as your arms get fatigued.  Stick to the diet prescribed yesterday, and take care of your sore legs.  Maybe a hot bath with salts, and some aspirin or other pain reliever.

Tomorrow they’ll thank-you.

EVEN THE TAN HAS MUSCLES

DAY 4:  Monday, October 12^th, 2009:  People refer to your belt as “the equator.”

According to 60 Minutes, 55-year-old General Stanley A. McChrystal runs an hour every morning before sunrise, and eats only one meal a day.  The greyhound-lean McChrystal says he doesn’t want to “feel full,” and be “slowed down.”

This is a high benchmark, but you won’t even come close . . . which is actually a great thing.

A training regiment that severe would just make you cranky and irritable, ready to wage war at the drop of a hat, which is perfect for the Commander of Afghanistan Forces.  You don’t want to be quite that hungry and angry.  Plus; it’s too early in this diet to run for a full hour, so let’s cut the run down to fifteen minutes, and consume the same amount as two well-rounded meals, broken up into little portions every two or three hours, just to keep your stomach busy.  Pack it up into baggies, and drink water or healthy juice.

Three meals a day is a ludicrous cultural routine that can weigh you down, fill you up, and allow hungry, bitter old military officers to take your land.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  Just kidding, General McChrystal!  Glad you’re across the ocean!  Hope that sense of humor is still intact!   

But seriously, you need to think foraging while following the mastodon herd, and eat just like a tribe on the move, packing for the migration.  According to crude ink sketches in outdated textbooks, those dudes were never fat, and very muscular (ignore their huge foreheads and blank stares). 

Uh-oh, the mastodon herd has gas!

It was part of my strategy when I lost twenty-eight pounds in six weeks, and really works.  I mean it really works.  The running or other exercise adds major bonus points, but make sure to do it just before your next small meal.

I’m sorry, General, but my overweight self actually beat an active drill sergeant in that diet competition, so there you go (I’m sure it was a fluke . . . please don’t attack my yard).

Good-luck and be the foraging hunter!  Be the hunter . . .