Here we are. Another year, another birthday right around the corner. I supposed I should begin reflecting on any lessons I learned this year, but I probably won’t do that. Instead, I feel like mentioning that I did not achieve my fat goal of gaining thirty pounds before the ball drops on December 31st.
Make no mistake. This is not a body positivity rant or anything. I think that’s fucking stupid. No, this is me being a lazy fat ass because I want to. I know perfecting well the hell I will face in the gym next month. But right now, I say fuck it. Enjoy the rest of the holidaze by drinking, smoking, and eating horrible things.
Did you know there is this stuff called reindeer bait? It’s amazing to eat when you’re hammered for the holidays. Every bite I take hardens my arteries in ways no stick of deep-fried butter ever could. Addictive flavor combined with heart attack Russian roulette.
Alright, I confess. I have never eaten deep-fried butter. Fat fried in fat. That’s too much even for me. Reindeer bait on the other hand, that shit is straight out of the Devil’s own kitchen. The grocery store has got to be in on it. They station tons of this stuff around the fruit and vegetable area. It’s almost as if Indiana has no choice but to be fat. Not entirely true, but it’s the narrative that lets me sleep at night.
Wonderland's Malice 