Well, it’s about time for another entry on this blog (I know you still get no input… hang on… I’m lazy). Let’s talk about diets. I’m on one. I’m always trying to be on one. It rarely works. Here’s the thing about diets: the word doesn’t sound particularly healthy. I mean any word that begins with “die” is not a word that has your best interest in mind. Maybe if we called them “live-its” people would be less intimidated. Anyway, I’m on this low carb diet; which basically means I eat as much unhealthy stuff as possible and lose weight. It sounds great until you try eating that much unhealthy stuff. Suddenly you’re craving fresh fruit and oatmeal. Who the hell craves fresh fruit and oatmeal?! A sick person, that’s who! So, you lose some weight, but meanwhile, you go crazy. You’re like a deep sea diver dreaming of a parachute. Stop with the parachute and look at the fish, baby! You don’t need a parachute! The fish are beautiful! But you can’t see how beautiful, because every fish is starting to look the same, and smell the same, and taste the same, and you can’t stop thinking of how good that parachute must taste! Okay, I shot that metaphor to hell, but seriously I wonder how many carbs are in a parachute? That’s the other thing: carb counting. I don’t even know what it is I’m counting. But I sure as hell am counting it. I mean usually you can see the thing you’re counting. That’s how you count. First you see it and then you assign it a number starting with 1 (proceeding sequentially) and ending with when you don’t see it anymore. Not with carbs. I’ve never seen a carb, not a single one, not ever and yet I can count them. I look at the back of the package– where it says “Nutrition Facts”, and then “carbohydrates” and then I pretend to take into consideration “serving size” and “servings per container” (because god knows I’m going to eat it all immediately), round everything to 5’s and 10’s, think about multiplication and then decide the butterscotch donuts are probably not on my diet. Repeat process for Ho-Ho’s and frozen pizza. It’s like I’m searching for the holy grail of low carb food: frozen batter dipped in orange fudgesickle with spinkles and mayonnaise, then fried: 0 carbs! And even though this food could only exist due to a typo in the “Nutrition Facts”, it doesn’t stop me from searching. Columbus had his India, Shakespeare had his acting career, Inspector Gadget had his disguises, and now I have the search for the perfect low carb food. That is, the food with more carbs than one should ingest in a lifetime with a typo. Bring it on! Some would say it’s a fools errand, but if it keeps me from eating parachutes, that’s a few less carbs for me and a few more carbs for the guy who eats the parachutes. Which leads me to my final point about diets. Maybe our whole approach to diets is backwards. I mean, would I really need to be skinny if I could just make everyone else fat? I got you thinkin’ there, huh?

Listen to this, two words: carb bomb! Now, I’d have to iron out all the technical details, but essentially it would work like this. While I’m sippin’ on a meatshake in my hyperbaric chamber (like I do), I release a highly desirable vaporized beer-fried cookie dough batter into the atmosphere that penetrates the epidermal layers of the human race at contact. I release this vapor every night, late at night (best weight gaining hours) from various world wide locations, taking into consideration time zones, daylight savings etc. so the vapor acts as the equivalent of a late night feast, effectively putting the world on an average of four meals a day breakfast/lunch/dinner/ohmygod, while I stay on the more traditional three meals. I figure about five years should do the trick, before I start to make a small fortune publishing my diet books. Which of course I call Live-it with Bernard Bygott. Stop Being Fat!, Just Live-it. My God You’re Fat!, and You’re Still a Fatty, but Buy This Book Anyway!. Then, when the truth comes out, I publish my expose: Livin’ Off the Fat (You Still Have A Pouch). You gotta admit it’s a pretty sweet idea. And you better not even think about stealing it because there are some very strict rules about stealing things off the internet, and you don’t even want to get tangled in that nasty web. But listen, as a reward for actually having read this far and in an attempt to stop you from blowing the whistle on me when this carb bomb gets released I’ll give you two-for-one tickets to my hyperbaric chamber. And let me throw you a suggestion, since you seem like a decent person: Don’t give the ticket to your husband, or wife, or boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whatever. This is your chance to be one of the only desirable people left in the world with Angelina Jolie. Think about it. ‘Till next time… keep studying!