fatty fatty 2x4

Whoa...I'm on this South Beach Diet, right? Well I was getting pretty tired of eating grilled chicken breast, diet Jell-O, & NO BEER & then, all of a sudden, while I'm looking for something to wear while I do a monster load of laundry, I discover that I can fit into my old army pants again. No, they're not from my combat tour of duty, unless you count the time I spent living upstairs from Al's Bar. They're just an old pair of fatigues that had mysteriously shrunk several waist sizes. I'm wearing these bad boys right now as I type this & watch The Ultimate Fighter marathon. Hell yeah! I should celebrate with a pizza & a pitcher but I think I'll let cooler heads prevail & enjoy a sensible dinner of chicken salad with a healthy glass of red wine. You know, the high-falutin' kind that comes out of the box.

Yeah so anyways, here's my motivation for staying on this obscene diet. Alls I gotta do is think of it as trying to make a fighting weight. These pampered Ultimate Fighters have the luxury of saunas & high-profile trainers. I'd like to see them try it my way, by not getting hammered & eating like one of the girls from Sex & The City. Actually no one wants to see that. Well, whatever it takes, right? If I can lose a little more weight maybe I'll be able to fit through the door of another jiu-jitsu place. After that, who knows? Maybe the maitre'd will stop asking for collateral before he seats me at Robin's BBQ. Now THAT would be something.









Is that how you spell maitre'd? I guess that's the wrong term for the guy who brings you a large Pabst before serving up a trash-can lid full of roasted meat.