Ah, looks like I binged until I passed out again. How positively enchanting of me. What time is it? I'm so bloated I can barely move. Can someone please come find me at this FedEx loading dock and put me out of my misery. I should just jump into the La Brea Tar Pits. Don't look at me. I mean...what IS all this? What the shizz did I EAT? Black beans and Moose Tracks? That explains the dry heaving. I definitely chugged the sweet bajeezus out of a bottle of pancake syrup, that much I remember. It wasn't even real syrup, it was that artificial diet syrup that has no carbs, fat or protein. You know what else it doesn't have? Any bloody business being inside of me. Yet I was feeling so incredibly down and out that it felt oddly natural seeking comfort in a bottle of cellulose gel.
Someone once said, "No matter where you go, there you are". And here I am emerging from an empty beer box at 2am like a stoned opossum, examining garbage for clues of my sordid activities, my solid synthetic innards struggling to balance the extra density I must now carry for the rest of my life. Oh yeah, I can't just grab an US Weekly, retreat into a cozy bathroom for an hour and take a nice long satisfying dump like humans can. Everything a bowling ball absorbs stays with it forever. It's a sobering reality to acknowledge I willingly made a lifetime commitment with frozen squash that you heat up in a big plastic sleeve. And I didn't even heat it up. Or take it out of the sleeve.
I'd be lying if I said this past week hasn't been a mess. This isn't my first binge, either. My center of gravity is completely blown. I have no balance. If you tried to throw me down an alley in this condition I probably wouldn't even make it to the pins. I'd land on the boards with a thud and stop dead. The same sort of thing that happens with chocolate Whoppers when you drop them onto a solid surface from a significant height.
It doesn't help that I live in a city where everyone is skinny and beautiful and full of energy and kale smoothies and overpriced probiotics. Meanwhile I find myself retreating to dark corners and fantasizing that I'm inside Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, cracking open a big bouncy ball full of that weird fruity wet jam like Veruca, and jamming that jam down my damn jam hole.
It doesn't help that I live in a city where everyone is skinny and beautiful and full of energy and kale smoothies and overpriced probiotics. Meanwhile I find myself retreating to dark corners and fantasizing that I'm inside Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, cracking open a big bouncy ball full of that weird fruity wet jam like Veruca, and jamming that jam down my damn jam hole.
