I know this is horrible to say and it is probably going to get me in trouble with someone, somewhere down the line...but...I wish I was bulimic. No, shut up, I really do. I love to eat but I don't like the by-products such as wondering who is following me uncomfortably close, only to discover it's my ass, being stereo-typed as lazy because I deposit more than I withdraw from the calorie bank, complete and utter rejection by both men and women, heart attacks and camel toes.
If I could stand the idea of puking every day, possibly 3 times a day, I guarantee, the economy would be stimulated. I would buy Ho-ho's, Yoo-hoo's, fried chicken, a vat of gravy, french baguettes with every type of cheese known to man, ice cream, marshmallows, mac and cheese, cream puffs, a bloomin' onion from Outback steak house, a side of bacon, krispy creme (which by the way, is the only donut I'll eat, the rest is just crap, I should know, I worked in a bakery and tried every freaking donut known to man from bear claws to crullers, I know what the hell I speak.), homemade biscuits, a meatball sandwich, a rotisserie chicken, turkey stuffing, pate, bbq pork ribs, flaming hot cheetos and a dollop of cool whip cream all washed down with a keg of coors light or a carton of two-buck chuck.
After I ate all of that, I'd stick my finger down my throat, take care of business, rinse my mouth out, wipe down the walls and figure out what's for lunch.
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