My Weight Loss Solution

I realized today that I’m developing a bit of a stomach. Not that I lacked one before, but I’ve noticed a distinct pooch forming where there once was a cute little tummy. I’m not exactly doing the truffle shuffle just yet, but at least I no longer look like a young Mr. Burns. I do, however, resemble an albino African child, with my bloated stomach and my feeble arms. Plus I have an American sponsor that feeds me for just pennies a day.

I ordered a delicious Frosty treat from Wendy’s the other day (don’t worry, I got a small) and figured out why Houston and its neighboring Texan cities are so fat. The instant they handed me the Frosty it started to melt in the heat. Then it was a race against the clock as my ice cream cycled through the three stages of matter right before my eyes. I didn’t know sublimation was possible for tasty treats, but it was shifting from solid to a gas faster than I could spoon it into my hole. Then I got an ice cream headache so bad I forgot where I was.

But I decided I’m going to do something about it. No, not the Frosty fiasco, I mean the extra pounds. I need to shed some of this extra weight, if only for better drag and less wind resistance... it’s simple physics. But exercising makes me sweaty. And I’m nervosa that if I start in with the anorexia I might miss Big Macs as much as I miss the guy that says, “God bless you” at the drive-thru window. And bulimia makes my throat tickle. So I’ve settled on the one and only way to help me lose weight: tapeworm.

If I could somehow get a tapeworm all my problems would be solved. I could eat whatever I want. I’d be like a proud pregnant woman who jokes, “I’m eating for two now” while I’m stuffing my face with peanut butter and deep dish pizza. I think I’d make a great host too, offering it a cornucopia of decadent foods. It would be a perfect ‘give and take’ symbiotic relationship, just my new friend and I taking it all in.

The adventures of Jeff and Tapeworm would be us two laughing it up with our mouths full of Jujubes, shopping and gossiping like a coupla gals. And Tapeworm would say something funny and I would squirt milk out my noise and it would say, “Aw damn, that woulda been tasty.” Because tapeworms are silly like that.

Bugs

I have what the Orkin man would call a bit of a bug problem. It’s not an apocalyptic apartment take over, nor is it just one bug going for a jog across my floor. It’s somewhere in the creepy-filled center.

You see, my apartment isn’t invaded by a parade of crawlers. Instead, my place has become a bug graveyard. They are migrating to my floor to die. My apartment is Florida for all things insect.

Bugs are hiding in the corner knitting and playing canasta, then struggling to the center of my room to keel over. A family of dead grasshoppers washed up my back porch seeking freedom and citizenry. When I’m gone, there’s a Bingo mixer and a swarm of geriatric fruit flies reminisce about when they were young earlier that month.

I’m not greeted by a wagging puppy when I come home from work, but a Heaven’s Gate june bug reenactment. Just a row of 234 legs in the air. I’ve fostered some kind of deplorable, yet delicate ecosystem that only I can survive. The bad news is that I now have a dedicated kitchen utensil for flinging carcasses off the porch. The good news is I save a ton on bug spray by being a disgusting human being.

A spider broke its hip by my bed and lay there helplessly until its eight eyes glazed over. I put a silver dollar over its eyes (and entire body) and wept for lil’ Charlotte. I stood there like Wilbur in my literal pig sty and mourned for a moment before I side-armed the limp speck onto the sidewalk with my spatula.