Tale of Two Lard Asses

Each year, Sid and I vow to lose weight and get in shape. Well, maybe we don’t vow as much as decide to graph our weight to see if we lose any. We haven’t lost any weight. But we do have a graph. Our past graphs show us we don’t lose weight and so do our taut pants. We usually stop graphing by June, when we give up and decide to don our Speedos in spite of our repulsive rolls, folds and/or general physical droopiness. This shows the world that we have accepted our non-Adonisness. People respect that. We can tell by the way they are afraid to approach us while we are wearing out our nut pouches. Besides, skin covering fat tans just as easily as skin covering muscle, and we feel a responsibility to uphold our bronze god reputations for the ladies. Yes, I’m speaking about the ladies in our local burn units, Edna and Lorraine. They look forward to our visits, welcoming us with copious amounts of balm and aloe. But this year, of course, it is going to be different. We will lose weight or, at least, get in shape. And we will have less skin to be balmed.

As you can see from this year’s graph, we are both off to a fabulous start. Don’t be fooled by the horizontal movement of our reality lines. In years past, by March, we had each packed on at least ten pounds. But, not this year. There’s not much to do during the winter months, and we both lead very active lives in the summer. Consequently, we like to store as much energy as possible prior to the end of May, so that we can survive a summer of rigorous peach-picking and power country lane strolling. Some years, when we fail to store excess fat, we are plum tuckered out by mid-August, at which time we start storing body fat for the following summer by binging on bacon fat and Funyuns. It’s good to plan ahead. Although, as promising as our current weight maintaining seems, I fear we will be drowning in lethargy by the end of July, since we have failed to lard up, as expected. That’s a chance we are willing to take.

We are right on pace, even if our goal lines may contradict this. We will not be oppressed by some imaginary lines on a graph, though we are the ones who determined them. Those lines have nothing to do with our ultimate goal, which is to not be bothered by the tribulations of life, like maintaining health. You may wonder, if that is the case, why we bother to attempt to lose weight. WE HAVE A GRAPH! Didn’t you see it? Here it is again.


The goal lines act more like fodder for hopeful imagination than they do to document actual goals. Establishing these goal lines is similar to buying lottery tickets. You know you are not going to win. But it is worth the hundred dollars you spend on them each week so you can imagine what you would do with all that money if you won, and how it would improve your life and how important actors may even consider allowing you to eat in the same restaurants as they do, and how you won’t smell anymore, and how you will become better than most people (but not important actors), and how a lot of people will want to have sex with you, or maybe at least somebody other than crack whores, and how you could look forward to finding better friends, and maybe buy that frock you always wanted. You can’t find that kind of entertainment anywhere else than inside your own head. The same can be said for the goal lines on the graph. We use them to help us imagine what it would be like if we could fit in those pants we bought fifteen years ago, or, if we could ever tuck our shirts in comfortably, again, or, if our asses ever became small enough to stop inadvertently bumping into the faces of old ladies sitting at bus stops. If we could, undoubtedly our lives would improve, and important actors may consider allowing us to eat in the same restaurants as they do, and we wouldn’t smell anymore, and we would become better than most people (but not important actors), and a lot of people will want to have sex with us, or maybe at least somebody other than crack whores would, and we could find better friends, and maybe some rich person would buy for us that frock we always wanted.

Speaking of smacking my big ass into the faces of old ladies sitting at bus stops, why is it that it seems that every time I inadvertently smack somebody sitting at a bus stop in the face with my ass, it’s an old lady? Don't you hate that? Then the old lady looks at me like I meant to do it. Like anybody ever purposely smacks somebody else in the face with his/her ass at a bus stop. Sure, that kind of thing may happen in Congress, but not at bus stops. “Excuse me, madam,” I’ll say, “I had no idea my buttocks protruded to such an assaulting extent.” “You need to keep tabs on that thing, sonny” they’ll usually reply. Then, I’ll tell them about my graph, and they’ll give me a cookie.

In defense of the old ladies sitting at bus stops, it’s not always them I posterior pummel. It seems like it, but to be sure, I created a spreadsheet to monitor these incidents over a year’s time. I compiled the data into a pie chart to illustrate who has been inflicted with my growing rear end. Not surprisingly, old ladies are victims the majority of the time. The rest of the results bring up two significant questions: 1. Why aren’t there any hot chicks at bus stops? 2. Why do I spend so much time at bus stops considering I’ve never ridden a public bus? I don’t have time to gather correlating data, but I’m guessing the answer to question two is associated with my burgeoning behind (and probably the first question, too).


Hence, the need for the graph – to improve the life quality of old ladies sitting at bus stops, although the pie chart looks more appetizing. As part of my fitness regimen, I’ve capped my bus stop loitering to only twice a week, with the hopes of reducing that frequency over time. It’s difficult to quit cold turkey with this habit, as you might imagine. Following is a list of the other weight loss/exercise measures I’ve incorporated into my life:

• walk to the bathroom instead of having somebody push me on an office chair


• stand up during the first two minutes of every conference call at work


• eat twice as much fast food at lunch so I’m not hungry at dinner time


• eat all of the snack food in my house so that I’m not tempted to eat it later, and then restock so I can test my willpower (and fail, but not let it ruin my spirit)


• wear more clothes and stop using antiperspirant so I sweat more to lose water weight
  
• spread butter with a heavier knife to build strong arm muscles


• park one spot further than intended at Wal-Mart to increase walking activity


• chew more vigorously to burn more calories


• clean off my weight bench and pray for divine inspiration


• wear foam rubber muscle shaped shirts


• towel dry instead of air dry after showers (aerobic exercise)


• speaking of showers, stand up in shower instead of lying down


• limit midnight snack to whatever I can hold in one hand instead of two


• no more mayonnaise bongs (ok, maybe on holidays, only)


• find out what metabolism means

I’m not sure what Sid is doing to keep his graph line from running off the top of the page. Since Sid is an avid biker, I suggested to him that he try bike riding on flat land, not just down hills, and then eventually trying riding up the hills. That may be asking a lot. He did say something about getting rid of his L’il Debbie intravenous machine. Good for him. I don’t expect him to keep as an ambitious regimen as I have itemized above. He’s not Superman, ya know (but he may be one of the Wonder Twins).

I do expect each of our reality lines on the graph to approach the goal lines eventually. It’s easy to go into the graph and adjust the goal line to go up. All you have to do is change the numbers in the spreadsheet. That should help us. However, if we ever do hit the existing goal lines and end up at the same weight, we have vowed to go ten rounds in the ring to determine who looks dorkier in boxing shorts. I don’t like to brag, but that is a competition I think I can win. Just keep the old ladies out of my corner so I don’t maim them.