DIET : IT ALL HURTS

IT ALL HURTS ; DIET



If you have to go to the Doctor do not let him take your blood pressure or measure your cholesterol. 

If he insists, definitely do not tell your wife the results. He mailed mine and she got them first. Usually a Doctor will not give you a diagnosis unless you go into go in with a leg missing from a chain saw accident 

She will make you start taking all fifteen of the different medicines he prescribed and twenty-five different vitamins that are each about the size of a brazil nut. 


If you have room left, your diet will consist of a little yogurt, an acorn, some times a half-inch cube of tofu or thimble of skim milk, some birch bark, and a small serving of hay, straw, or grass clippings depending on which night of the week it is. Once in a while you get some fruit if you are a good faker at fainting. You may as well move to Bangladesh. 
I know this because the doctor mailed the results and my wife found them. Now days I'm usually hungry enough to eat a doughnut off a hobo's dick. 
When at work I often scrounge tables at the park across the street during my lunch hour in hope of a morsel. It is surprising how weak you are and how hard it is to wrestle a squirrel when on this diet.

If you can convince your wife you have a large insurance policy, you can be assured that you will have pork chops, and baked potatoes with real bacon bits, sour cream and butter every meal until you’re up to four heart attacks a day. She will assure you that the corn dogs are vegetables and the hops in beer are not just one but, two servings. Unfortunately my wife is not gullible. So far I'm worth more alive than dead. Vigilant health authorities notify her hourly, via e-mail sent by friends (hers), that pretty much everything I do is fatal, so rabbit food is still on the menu. 

Lately, my nose starts twitching and my leg thumps whenever we go by a McDonalds. My body fat, or BMI, has now dropped to a dangerous sixty five percent.


It appears all the vitamins people take now have made everyone except me faster. I always seem to be leading a parade of track stars when I walk down aisles and hallways. It doesn’t help that they are making aisles and hallways narrower. I’m thinking of buying a baton. These insufferable people are constantly saying things like “Good morning Mister or sir.” I’ll start looking around for some old codger and glare at any one under the age of thirty when I realize it’s me.
During the 60’s when I was a young hippie, I had too much respect for my elders to call them sir, at least until I got drafted. You wouldn't want to get too casual though. I called my dad Hank …once. I regained consciousness about a week later and couldn’t remember his first name for the next couple of years.


Often, unbearably perky young people will ask me, “Why are you so cranky?” and I have to patiently explain to them that I have a wife and children, watch the news and wear corrective underwear that binds like theirs will in thirty years. They usually don’t ask again.


Well, supper’s ready. I hope it’s tofu night. Yum yum.