It probably has been over two decades since my weight crept over the 200 lbs. mark. My peak weight was 240 lbs., but mostly I drift between 210-225 lbs.; currently I weigh 210, which still is arguably 50 lbs. too heavy. I’m not overly tall so the extra weight does not fit my frame; people rudely stare when I march past them on the beach while wearing my man-thong and open-carry holster with the long barrel .44 magnum.
I quit drinking soft drinks, I quit drinking beer and booze, I quit eating ice cream, chocolate, pastries, and junk food, but the bathroom scale seems stuck. My short, puny doctor laid it all out straight for me last year; he said my main problem is that I am not active enough and that the excess fat is killing me. Damn.
In case you think that the above is a preamble to a bold declaration of my new life replete with discipline and exercise, you can forget about it. Doc said the fat is killing me, not the inactivity. Therefore, I’m making a considerably charitable public offer to donate my surfeit fat for transplantation into needy, underfed, skinny folks; all I ask is payment for the cost of my liposuction.
You all know where to reach me.