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.
Do When Done
3 months ago