How many times have you heard someone jokingly say, “I hate skinny people”? For some people this is a weighty issue – no ifs, ands or big, wide butts, about it!


I would say that I could stand to lose a few pounds or in metric terms that would be, “a couple of kilos”, but who the hell says that?

The only thing holding me back is procrastination, random excuses and procrastination.

Losing weight is no easy fix. First you have to stop eating real food and start choking back green stuff that is better suited for cows, rabbits and Hollywood starlets. The next thing you have to do is get off your ass and onto your feet, out of the shade and into the heat.

When it comes to dieting the part that gets too me is the tradeoff between savory to bland, juicy to grainy and delicious meat for something that smells like it came out of a wet gumboot.

Just like a lot of you regular folks; I was raised on meat and potatoes. That’s another part of my weighty issue. It’s true that you are what you eat. Not only is it what you eat, it’s also how much you munch and even at what times you raid the refrigerator.

Then there are special occasions where food is a huge part of ethnic traditions. Massive amounts of finger licking good grub is forced upon you – and you can’t say no without hurting Nana’s feelings.

The year starts out with the traditional holiday feast of roast beasts. Then comes new years, birthdays, BBQs, parties, business gatherings and Nana’s annual face stuffing contest with guilt pie for desert – can’t you just feel your belt pinching?

The human body is designed to eat and expel in order to exist. Only a short time ago humans had to work for their daily bread. Today, food can be had while you sit in your car or by simply dialing a number. But the latest, laziest and fastest way to stuff your pie-hole is as simple as lifting your finger and clicking a chocolate mousse – or whatever your plaque pumping heart desires.

Let’s not forget the magic gene – the one that pops out of your jeans – by simply rubbing it. In other words: if your Ma and Pa were short and stout, chances are you too are shaped like a little tea pot. That’s part two of my diet woes. Genetically speaking; my jeans are tight.

Now that the warmer weather is here we’ll be seeing more boobs, bellies and mounds of milk jello. I feel ashamed of myself for letting my love handles get out of hand, but this time I have a great excuse.

As it turns out I’ve been walking around with a broken neck for the past year. I thought I was just getting older and paying for my days as the rough and rowdy rouge.

Have you ever bitten down on aluminum foil? That’s what it feels like if I move the wrong way. It makes sleeping all night almost impossible and because I was ignored by the medical community and told to take a number; the result is I haven’t been moving around as much as I should. So, if you see me at the beach, please don’t laugh at my moobs.