Fat Discrimination, or How to Not Quite Fool Yourself

In Tuesay's entry, I touched on something at the end that I wanted to return to. The idea that hip retail clothing stores only carry smaller sizes on purpose. Obviously this is a perfect example of fat discrimination. The horribly embarrassing part is that it actually happened to me. Let's try to put the whole chubby thing into context.

There is something out there in the world called the Fat Acceptance Movement, a movement born of discrimination and injustice towards fat people of all walks of life. You might have heard of it by one of its other names, such as the "Size Acceptance Movement," or the "Fat Liberation Frontier," or simply "FAT POWER!"

These organizations are designed to eliminate the injustice and discrimination suffered by fat people every single day of their/our fat lives. Anything from seat sizes on airlines and in stadiums (Lambeau Field and NASCAR events excluded) to weight restrictions on playground equipment and bathroom scales. The discrimination is without end, and must be stopped!

It's said that fat decreases human productivity and efficiency. It's said that fat creates health risks and puts a strain on the country’s healthcare system. It's even said that fat people can develop psychiatric problems due to the strain of the injustices in their fat lives. It's never said, though, that fat is fucking delicious, is it? No. But I'm here to say that, dammit, it is. It tastes so good in bacon. It tastes so good on our chili cheese fries. And, by GOD ALMIGHTY, it tastes so damn good on those jumbo corn dogs they have at Disneyland.

Let it be known though that we have suffered discrimination as well! Who are these people to tell us that we shouldn't eat an entire box of Boston Creme donuts!? Who are these people to tell us that we shouldn't eat an entire frozen pizza and still feel hungry!? This is America (and parts of Canada) dammit. We'll eat till we sweat, and there's nothing any of you can do about it. Well, nothing that is, except make our clothes too small and our buttons too weak. Oh, and also those airplane seats again. Not to mention the stretch marks and chafing. We also think Type 2 Diabetes is a conspiracy created by The Man to keep the fat people suppressed. It almost seems like once you go fat you never go... uh, unfat.

Of course, this next one I experienced directly. Certain trendy clothing stores are making the purchase of anything above XXL an online only situation. The paraphrased dialogue below reflects my experience not as it actually happened, but how I perceived it at the time.

(at Gap, trying to find clothes that fit after being laughed at by my wife)

Fattest Me Ever: "Um... do you have any pants that are bigger than these?"
Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady: "You want size 40" waist?"
Fattest Me Ever: "Er... yeah, well, no, but I'm just looking for..."
Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady: "I'm sorry fatass but you've reached the in-store fat limit."
Fattest Me Ever: "In-Store fat limit?"
Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady: "That's correct you fat bastard. We don't carry sizes that fat in the store, as it might encourage fatty's to shop here. Now kindly get the fuck out."
Fattest Me Ever: "All I want to do is give you money for clothes."
Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady: "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now fatty. Feel free to visit our online store where the plus sizes will be available to you."
Fattest Me Ever: "Plus sizes? I don't want to shop for clothes online. I can't even try them on."
Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady (calling security): "Yeah, this is Skinny, Hip, Gap Lady, we've got a Code Fat situation here."

I'm guessing that the security guy on the other end said something like: "Code Fat!? Sounds serious, we'll be right over with the cattle prods and soft batch cookies!"

You see, they don't want to damage their skinny brand image by having fatty in the store, but they'll still take fatty’s money from the comfort of his reinforced chair at home via the internet. Despite my experience, I can honestly say they did the right thing. What business wants to have their brand image destroyed by mountains of lard? It helped me reach my own personal rock bottom.

Fat doesn't really bounce though, so once I hit rock bottom, I just sorta stayed there looking for M&M's that people dropped.

It is because of this that fat people have invented their own vernacular, a jargon to confuse the non-fat folks. A language of their own to take away the chubby edges from the words Fat, Huge, and Obese. A woman isn't fat, she's "Full Figured." A man isn't obese, he's simply "Stocky."

We are strong advocates of the truth though. We know we're fat. We can see it in the mirror. We call it what it is, and we're not proud. We know we're not "Rotund," we're 50-70 pounds fatter than we should be. We know we're not "Big Boned," we're huge. We're not "portly gentlemen," we're fat-asses. We know this. We accept this. However, that doesn't mean that we've deluded ourselves into believing that we're happy with it. Perhaps that's the divide. Plus, the word “portly” just sounds hilarious.

You find me a fat person who doesn't want to weigh less, and I'll find you a good tasting non-fat box of Ho-Ho's. In other words: impossible. It's probably a scientific fact that every single fat person ever doesn't actually want to be fat. Lifestyle change isn't simple though. In fact, aside from tying our shoes, it's one of the most difficult things in the world to accomplish when you're portly. It's so much easier just to wear flip flops and forget about not being able to see your feet. It's also probably a scientific fact that while our shoelaces are still within reach, flip flops don't leave you oxygen deprived and gasping for breath.

K-Fed Gets a Little Bit More Loser

Kevin Federline has taken a break from being awesome to be fat:

From K-Fed to K-Fat

The Exact Moment I Realized I Was Fat

I have this brown leather belt that I wear almost every day. I remember when I first got it. It fit comfortably on the third notch, and life was thin and pleasant.

Over the years, as I crammed more and more crap into my face, that third notch started to produce some mild discomfort. I paid little attention to the cause of the problem, and came up with the brilliant fix of simply using the second notch instead of the third. Problem solved.

Solved, that is, until I became completely addicted to High Fructose Corn Syrup and all of the tasty things it's dumped into. Take ketchup for example, who the fuck knew that it was loaded up with HFCS? Well, people who read the back of those little packets probably knew, but the rest of us - who were too busy tearing them open with our teeth – we failed to notice.

Eventually, the second notch could no longer take the strain of my gut. When it hurt to sit down, and I started to lose circulation in my lower extremities, I was forced to take immediate action. Said immediate action came in the form of me moving to the last notch, of course.

That might have been great, except for the fact that the belt was now loose, but my pants were straining at the button. I undid the button to limit the pants strain, and went about my business.

It never even crossed my mind that I might need to start exercising, or start eating less.

When I finally reached my peak weight of 253lbs, I could no longer buckle the old belt. So, naturally, I did what any fatass in denial would do, I went to shop for a bigger belt. Not just a belt though, I needed bigger pants, shirts, all of it.

My wife went with me to Gap to pick some new clothes out. I grabbed a bunch of stuff and headed for the dressing room. One of the thing's I grabbed was a pair of 38" pants. I had stopped wearing my 36" pants when the belt hit the first notch. The 38's I had barely fit me, but there was NO WAY IN HELL I was going to wear 40's. No way. Apparently that’s where my brain drew its line in the sand.

After several minutes of sucking in my gut, and some sweaty heaving and panting, I finally got a shirt and pants on. They were tight, but I didn't fully realize just how tight until I opened the door...

to laughter.

When my wife saw my fat ass crammed into the pants and a shirt that I had fully convinced myself was the right size, she just lost it. I mean, it wasn't like a random giggle or even a chuckle. No, it was a full on attack of gut busting hilarity brought on by seeing me attempt to shoehorn my girth into clothes designed for much thinner, hipper people than myself.

I stood there for at least an entire minute while she kept trying to say over and over, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh." It was hard to pick up her sincerity through all the guffaws and tears though. Yes, she literally had tears she was laughing so hard. THAT is the moment when it FINALLY hit me.

I was a ridiculous fatass.

I didn't end up buying anything, but the nice (skinny) lady that worked there was more than happy to tell me that there was a selection of larger sizes available at their online store.

Online store. Screw that. I went home and drank Mt. Dew and ate an entire frozen pizza by myself. I convinced myself that it was brain food, and I needed to do some thinking to figure out my next (fat) move.

It might not sound like a Hollywood version of rock bottom, but you try having your wife laugh at you until she cries because you look pathetic in a store where none of the clothes fit you. That’s what it means to be fat, and she did exactly what had to be done in order for me to fully grasp how far I’d let myself go. This is my way of thanking her for doing the right thing.

Pizza is/always has been/always will be the staple of your run-of-the-mill fatty fatty 2x4. Science has recently discovered pizza in the bellies of big, fat cavepersons. Maybe if you got to the museum once a decade you'd know about amazing shit like this. (As museums are often public buildings, the law requires them to have ample room for your Hoveround/Cushman Truckster).

It should come as no surprise to me then that the following is actually a true story:

Knock, knock.

Domino's Guy: Here's your pizza, sir.

I grab the card to sign the receipt, so I can prove in a possible litigation-type situation that I did indeed purchase this pizza. (Sit on your high horse and pretend it couldn't happen!)

Domino's Guy: Suprised I don't see your little guy running around.

Me: Heh.

***

So the Domino's guy knows that I have a young son. Wow. Luckily he didn't say anything about my wife's uterus.

I seriously have to go now because the Domino's guy is here...seriously.

P90X - Plyometrics

So, what the hell is plyometrics, anyway? Tony Horton calls it "Jump Training". I call it "Jump Training with Satan himself". Wikipedia tells us that plyometrics is:

Plyometrics - a type of exercise training designed to produce fast, powerful movements, and improve the functions of the nervous system, generally for the purpose of improving performance in sports.

While that description is spot on, it leaves out all the parts about pain and tears.

The first week of P90X goes like this:

1. Monday: Chest and Back + Abs
2. Tuesday: Plyometrics
3. Wednesday: Arms and Shoulders + Abs
4. Thursday: Yoga
5. Friday: Legs and Back + Abs
6. Saturday: Kenpo (kinda like kickboxing)
7. Sunday: Off (or some cardio workout)

The plan is basically resistance training, then cardio, then repeat for one week. The next week starts it all over again. So, for the first three weeks, the above cycle is repeated three times before things change. I'm in the middle of week three right now, and yesterday was Plyometrics.

In the P90X Plyometrics workout, you do a series of four exercises, repeated, then you get a break. Then, you start another four similar, but different exercises. This repeats until the end, and takes slightly less than an hour. The breakdown sorta looks like this:

warm up
(4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) x 2
waterbreak
(4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) x 2
waterbreak
(4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) x 2
waterbreak
(4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) x 2
waterbreak
(4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) x 2
waterbreak
(3 sports exercises: pitching|shooting|football) x 2
Cooldown

Here is the first series of exercises in the plyometrics workout. From above, this would be the first (4 exercises: 30s|30s|30s|1min) section.

Jump Squats (30 seconds) - exactly what it sounds like. You stand, feet slightly apart, and you jump up in the air. Then, using a controlled "cat like" motion, you land quietly on your toes, and repeat.

Run Stance Squats (30 seconds) - you stand as though you're about to take off running. Then you squat down low, and stand back up. On the fourth one, you jump, turn in the air, and land. Again, making the landing as quiet as possible by landing on your toes, again like a cat.

Airborne Heisman (30 seconds) - you jump from one foot to the other and strike the Heisman pose. Sounds easy, but the balance part is actually quite difficult. Cats are stupid, I'd like to see a fucking cat try this move.

Swing Kick (1 minute) - This one lasts one full minute. You get a chair and swing each leg over it. Left, then right, then back again. This one seems easy, until you actually try it. This, too, is impossible for cats.

At the end of all that, you quickly go back to jump squats and do it all over again. Once you've done that twice, Mr. Horton will give you a generous 30 second break. He is hard, but fair.

So far, I'd say that plyometrics is easily the most difficult and brutal of all the workouts. It's designed in such a way that it can be as hard on day one as it is on your final day. You can definitely half-ass it too. In the sports and fitness world - for some reason - this is called "doggin' it." So, if anyone ever tells you that you're "doggin' it", they're basically calling you a pussy and telling you that you'll never amount to anything, ever. It's best to visualize punching them in the neck as you attempt to keep from doggin' it.

At the end of plyometrics, if you've really put some effort in, you'll be incredibly exhausted and completely drenched with sweat. If you've been doggin' it, Tony Horton will personally show up at your house and kick your fat ass while the rest of us - who weren't doggin' it - will be showered with treasure and super hot fitness babes. That's just Tony Horton's style.

P90X - Day 14 - Climbing Back Onto the Wagon

I read somewhere once that it takes three weeks to form a habit. I'm convinced that a significant portion of my brain is dedicated to completely derailing this habit forming process before it ever has a chance to get to the three week mark. Instead of blaming itself, my brain invents all kinds of convenient excuses for why I'm not working out, or eating properly, or writing hilarious things.

Sometimes though, that self destructive asshole portion of your brain needs someone to come along and give it a severe beating. That beating for me took the form of the most brutally sarcastic blog post ever written. In case you missed it, have a look at Bill's post from yesterday.

If you'll recall, our unofficial, official motto on this blog is:

"You can't make a fat person skinny by NOT calling him fat."

Well, Bill used 10 paragraphs yesterday to call me fat. It was a rude awakening for sure, but the thing is, I totally deserved it.

So, what happened?

Well, if you ask my self destructive brain, you'd hear a myriad of excuses ranging from work, to birthday parties, to kids, yard work, etc. The brain has a near limitless capacity to formulate bullshit excuses for just about anything you're trying to accomplish. Excuses that make it seem like you were just about to do something great, but shit, that thing at work came up and I missed my workout.

What really happened was that I started out strong. Working out, eating well, the whole deal. Then, on the second day, something in my brain said, "Shit, looks like he's actually trying to better his life by becoming healthy and fit. We need to put a stop to this." It was a lazy, sugar coated, downhill ride from there.

P90X, my chosen method of torture, consists of a daily workout (sometimes two) and a diet change. The diet change involves eating "approved" foods according to which phase of the program you're on. I’ll write more about that soon. Diet and exercise... seems reasonable.

After the first day, I missed three workouts for the week. The following week, I missed another three workouts. The only thing I was doing with the diet change was to eat less. Mostly. So out of 14 workouts, I did 8 of them, and I ate slightly less.

Result? The most sarcastic re-motivating blog post ever by Bill, (who I totally hate now.) Oh, and a net weight loss in two weeks of exactly 2 pounds. Awesome.

What's Next?

Let's be clear about something here, finding your hidden six-pack is incredibly fucking difficult. But, I really really want to see mine. So, I'm officially back ON the wagon.

Tomorrow's workout is called Plyometrix, which means: Jump Training. I literally can't wait.

Scott + P90X = FAIL!

I have a confession, even though Scott & I have written a book, that doesn't really mean we're writers. We basically like writing down funny things to make each other laugh. One time we wrote down so many funny things it turned into a book, a book so funny that Grand Central Publishing thought they could make money if they paid us a nominal fee to print and sell said book on our behalves. Turns out people are buying this book, laughing, and emailing us about how funny (or horrible) they think it is. Cool it worked.

A couple weeks ago, Scott got an idea to do a P90X blog (see 7/12/09 blog entry). I reluctantly agreed to help out. I thought I'd like to help write some funny stuff. After all, the twelve videos that are P90X are indeed comedy GOLDMINES!

Scott then wrote a cool intro and began what could be the 2ND WORST FUCKING BLOG of all time (behind www.thebunnyblog.com). The following is a sarcastic open letter to my best friend in the whole wide world:

Dear Scott,
Thanks for starting your P90X blog. I'm really excited to keep up with the blog to see how you're doing. Hell I might even start P90X because your motivation is so contagious! This is gonna be an inspirational/awesome/sweaty 90 days of amazingness! I gotta warn you though, I'm kinda new to this whole thing so you'll have to take the reins and run with it. I'll try to keep up if I can.

Wow you created a widget so we can see what your starting weight, current weight, future weight, and weigh-in date are. That's an awesome idea that really allows those of us who are following you to keep up. It also puts a "ticking time bomb" spin on what you're doing, adding pressure and entertainment value. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!

Alright, looking for other content here...hrmm. Let's see. Maybe Scott's computer is broken. It's gotta be here somewhere though. Scott knows computers really well.

You are BLOGGING about P90X right? I mean, the most basic thing in doing a fitness/workout blog would have to be a BEFORE PICTURE. Right? We'd definitely want to see what you look like now, probably in a pair of shorts with a frumpy look on your face or something. Seeing how fat you are would really get us involved and want to root for you, maybe even post comments encouraging you AND belittling you, both of which would most likely motivate you to finish the job. Iunno, maybe I just don't know how to blog.

And since you're faithfully doing P90X every single day (you MUST be without any exception whatsoever, right?), would an update kill you? Those videos are so fucking intense, you must have some CRAZY observations about them, especially the FIRST DAY. I understand unless you're in really good shape, P90X is not possible to even start...without crying and vomiting. Don't worry, your first day probably wasn't that big a deal. Nothing to write home about that's for sure.

Also, were you planning on just showing us a picture when you hit day 90? I noticed that one week has gone by since your intro post. Maybe the internet is malfunctioning and failed to show us the bare minimum six entries you should have posted this week alone. You know, the entertaining entries about:

- What it is
- Where you got it
- Why you started
- How you do it
- Where you do it
- When you do it
- How intense it is
- Whether you need weights or not
- How weird/old/awesome Tony Horton is
- Who's working out with you
- How strong you currently are
- What those crazy exercises are like
- Your unease with doing Yoga
- How much pain you're in
- What your motivation is
- How many times you fell off the wagon in week one
- The intense/unfair exercises that you can't possibly keep up with
- How you'll probably never do this.

Bah, don't listen to me. I'm probably overreacting. After all, it's just a ninety day program to get you in the best shape of your life taking a complete commitment of time and energy. You're probably just coasting through it.

But we wouldn't know.

Li'l Rascal

What happens when a big fat gypsy lady who looks like Meatloaf wants a Whopper but can't maneuver her personal mobility device inside the Kingdom? Luckily for us, the following . . .
click for hilarity

Weblargh: Gut Check

It is often said (by us) that one of life’s great truths is this: Making fun of others will make you feel really, really good about yourself. Everyone does it to some extent, even the ones who deny it. In fact, they're usually the worst offenders because they do it under the guise of "caring". It's therapeutic and helps you bury your own insecurities way deep down inside, which is, of course, why we so highly endorse it. G’head. Try it out. See that guy over there? Man, he’s so stupid, isn’t he? I mean, just look at him all “I’m going about my business, blah, blah, blah…” Hahaha! What a dumbass!

Ahhhh. See? Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?

This sense of well-being is heightened when making fun of those who are different than you. Hell, we might even go so far as to describe poking fun of these others as addictive. It's addictive to make fun of the chubby girl at the carnival sporting a muffin top and eating a corn dog. It's addictive to pantomime the fat guy at the carnival who's hitting on the chubby girl while also eating a corn dog. It's like a natural high when the laughter takes hold and you know deep down inside that you'll never be that fat, that obese, or that sweaty…

Sometimes though, your drug can't produce the same high. Sometimes the boost of self esteem at the expense of others isn't quite what it used to be. Sometimes you're afraid to laugh too hard because you don't want to spray bits of your own corn dog all over your chili-cheese fries. Sometimes, you look down and realize that you're resting your drink on your gut, right next the ketchup stain. But how can that be? After all, you’re the guy who makes fun of others for being not enough like you. Could it be you’ve turned into…one of Them? Naw, impossible, right? Right? RIGHT?!?

Well, that's what happened to us. Drunk off the success of generally kicking ass, we spent too much time thinking we weren't fat. Consequently, we failed to notice the pounds as they secretly collected under and around our formerly well-defined chins. We're not sure how this happened. It could have been the delicious combination of powdered Donettes and Mountain Dew. Or perhaps it was the Luigi’s bacon pizza and 32 oz. chocolate milkshakes. Come to think of it, it could have been Red Vines and popcorn with extra salt and butter-flavored topping. You see, these are the staples of the successful author diet. Just ask that fat-ass who wrote that book about space. Alas, we realize it was at least in part due to the high fructose corn syrup drip we attached to ourselves while watching The Biggest Loser marathon. But this is something that happens to Them, definitely not Us.

We've decided not to dwell on it though. That would mean we'd have to make fun of ourselves, and your mom says it's not nice to make fun of fat people. Nonetheless, we've decided to embark upon an epic journey. A journey that will take us from the dizzying moral heights of the health food stores to the pungent depths of the gym locker room on an epic quest to find our abs.

P90X - Painting Myself Into the Success Corner

When we first started this journey to find our inner, skinnier, selves we wanted to find the easiest way possible to lose the most weight, the fastest. Because who the hell wants to actually work at not being fat? It might as well be impossible. (Unless you're genetically gifted, like my brother.)

That was November of 2008. A mere nine months ago. I tried several different diets, methods, programs, etc. since then, and I failed at them all. Well, not so much failed, as failed to finish. The end result was still the same though. Me being fat.

That's not to say that these diet methods don't work, because they definitely do work. It's just that they totally fucking suck. Bad. They suck so much that you eventually crash into your own personal threshold of how much something self inflicted can suck, before you make it stop. I'd advise against letting it reach the point where you're rocking back and fourth with a tear covered Honey Bun crumbling in your hands.

We'll talk more about our past huge embarrassing failures later, but for now I'd like to tell you about our future huge embarrassing successes.

P90X is a fitness and nutrition program created by fitness robot Tony Horton. You've probably seen parts of the infomercial tons of times. It consists of several DVD’s that give you instruction for working out at home. It's all about body weight exercises, and something they call "muscle confusion," where you trick your muscles into doing shit they don't want to do.

Bill discovered P90X before me, and pestered me to try it too. At the end of May, I finally gave in. For next three weeks I went at it really hard, working out almost every day. I followed all the videos, ate less junk, and it started working wonders. Then it kinda fell apart, because my brain hates me, and I stopped for two weeks.

CAUTION: Let me just say this about P90X: It's fucking HARD. I'm not talking some wussy little power hour hard, I'm talking sweat drenched fitness fucking revival hard.

I didn't want to give up and let my brain win again though. So, salvaging as much of the momentum I still had, I vowed to probably try it one more time. Then, surprising even me, I actually did start it one more time.

P90X Start Date: July 6, 2009

P90X Start Weight: 231

I'm already one week in. I'm going to actually try to document my progress here, while publicly setting virtually unachievable goals for myself. I'm going to follow this 90 day program all the way through to the bitter end, Oct. 3rd, 2009.

I hereby promise that on that fateful day 90, I'll post official looking before/after shots of myself. Furthermore, the after shots will include a visible six pack. No, this isn't some lame bullshit where I put a six pack of beer in the shot and like a total asshole say, "SEE!? I said visible six pack!" No, this is the real deal. I promise real, non-photoshopped, visible, abdominal muscles that belong specifically to me.

So there. I'll put my day and current weight in the side bar for easy score keeping. If anyone else wants to join me on this heartfelt journey of self discovery and girth reduction, don't hesitate to let me know.

WHO endorses HTNBF

Well, sort of. The World Health Organization has noticed that being morbidly obese increases your chances of death by swine flu. Add to that all the butter you've been eating and things don't look so good.

Obese more at risk from swine flu.

Note: the WHO has also officially stated that being morbidly obese seriously increases your chances of being laughed at in public.

'Office' Politics

Turns out the funniest man in the world agrees:
Svelte Rickey Gervais Will Never Stop Making Fun of Fat People

You're Fat

In April of 1999, a pastor at a church in Nashville told me and a couple hundred others that "You can't make someone lose weight by calling them fat." Now I've heard religious leaders say some pretty stupid things ("If you give money to us good things will happen to you." or "This wafer actually turns into Jesus's body!", or "Come sit on my lap, Billy."), but this one had to be top 3 all time. With pastor Dave as his vessel, Jesus was telling me I wasn't fat.

In an attempt to reconcile His words with my 23% body fat, I thought, "Maybe Jesus is just being sarcastic." Actually, it turns out Jesus was wrong.

You're fat.

This has become my mantra, mostly because it is true. Being a fatass (267 lbs, 31% body fat) is unhealthy and disgusting. What expertise does this Jesus guy have telling me I'm not fat? Jesus had rippling pects. He never had to hold His breath when putting on His sandals. He didn't get the meat-sweats during The Last Supper. Jesus, I am fat. Please stop telling me otherwise.

You're fat.

My brain was no help either. In mirrors I didn't look so bad. Those fatties on Biggest Loser were over 300 goddamn lbs. I was a mere mid-to-upper 200's. My big fat epiphany helped me realize I was experiencing a dangerous psychological disorder "orexia nervosa."

You're fat.

Unlike it's skinny cousin, "anorexia nervosa," orexia nervosa causes delusional fatties to see themselves in a mirror and say, "You know what? You don't look too bad." Right? Right?! RIGHT?!? Wrong.

You gotta admire the willpower of anorexics. What with the eating lettuce until you sprout fur and die. That's commitment. I was similarly, but oppositely committed to eating pizza until I sprouted fat and died.

Turns out you can't make someone skinny by NOT calling them fat.

You're so fucking fat.

Bill liked to dress up and photograph his victims before eating them

How to Not Be Fat

This is not a diet blog. We are not experts. We are The Dudes, Bill Lloyd and Scott Finch. You may remember us from such selling books as The Dudes' Guide to Pregnancy: Dealing with Your Expecting Wife, Coming Baby, and the End of Life as You Knew It and, uh . . . well, possibly from high school. We, like many of the formerly lean, have put on a few (read, fifty to seventy) pounds over the past few years. We’ve then lost a few of said pounds and then put them back on plus a some extra just to punish ourselves for trying to get skinny.

Along the road to becoming less huge, we learned one basic and fundamental truth about life:

It turns out that a promise to yourself is quite possibly the easiest promise in the whole world to break, ever.

That's where this blog comes in. We're going to be making some ridiculous public promises that some of you will hold us to. Promises like visible abs, and the ability to do a pull-up. We're hoping that the humiliation of not following through will be enough to keep us from ordering the Family Sized bacon pizza from Luigi's, instead of whatever size they call pizzas smaller than that.

That header picture was taken at the breakfast buffet at Luxor in Las Vegas. At the time I weighed 253 horrific pounds. Bill was hovering around 267lbs. Yes, we do - in fact - have three glasses of Pepsi/MtDew in front of our bacon laden plates. Bill got a head start on me with that far glass.

Over the past year we've read many of the diet books (e.g., Dr. Atkins New Diet Revolution, Body For Life), browsed the weight loss websites (www.cabbage-soup-diet.com, www.ilovechocolatediet.com, et al), and checked out some of the most ridiculous girth-reducing schemes (colonics, anything Asian) in history.

While we have made great big fat strides in reducing some of the girth visible in that shot, much more work still needs to be done. What follows is the true story of the fat reducing journey of two guys who’ve known each other since grade school. It’s a commentary on diets and exercise from a couple dudes who are dieting and exercising. That’s all. If you accidentally learn something, that’s your problem.

How you take the stories, anecdotes, and tidbits in this blog is up to you. Science has proven that sense of humor is inversely proportional to mass (ever heard of Einstein’s Theory of Fat and Misery?). We would suggest taking our direct tone with a grain of salt, but, if you're like us, you’ve probably already got high blood pressure and we don’t need any liability issues. Some of the narrative may come off as crass, insulting, even downright mean. But we’re only doing it because we love you, you fat fuck. So consult your doctor before starting any weight loss program and hang on for the sebaceous, greasy ride. Feel free to laugh and, like us, try to keep the crying on the inside.