I knew something had to be done the morning1 the button popped off my jeans2. Shocked and appalled, I realized that I could no longer ignore the cold, hard truth reflected3 in the mirror on the wall4. I was fat5.
It was time for me to stop being a “passenger in life”6 and to start thinking of myself as the healthy person I knew I could become. I immediately slipped into my house robe7 and walked8 into the kitchen, determined to change my eating habits once and for all. First stop: the refrigerator. I peered in and took a quick inventory. Milk9, eggs10, butter11, beer12…no wonder I’d packed on the pounds. In a defiant display of strength and willpower, I grabbed13 each and every item and threw14 them all into the garbage can. Now I could start anew.
I remembered recently seeing a local newspaper ad announcing the opening of a new gym15 called Curves created just for women. My curiosity piqued, I decided to drive16 into town and check it out for myself. As I passed17 through the sliding glass doors, I was greeted by the smiling face of the receptionist.
“Welcome to Curves! I’m Shelly18. How can I help you?”
“Hi Shirley19. I’m interested in losing a few pounds,” I answered, glancing down at my protruding belly20.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place! Here, we offer state-of-the-art exercise machines complete with a personalized nutrition plan just for you!”
I hesitated. “I’ve never been very good at dieting21…”
“Don’t worry!” she reassured. “We understand that most women have an insatiable sweet tooth. That’s why we promote SplendaTM22. It’s made from sugar23, so it tastes like sugar24. It even measures cup25 for cup26 like sugar27 so you can use it in baking28!”
I was becoming more and more convinced that this was the place for me. Shelly explained that their simple program takes only 30 minutes a week and offers a support network of other women in pursuit of their fitness goals. I signed up immediately.
It’s now three months later, and I’ve already lost 40 pounds29 and dropped three dress30 sizes. I’m the happiest I’ve been in 2031 years. I’m loving life and the new me. Thank you, Curves.
Sincerely,
Jill Gorham32
1 evening 2 cape 3 unseen 4 bolted to the inside lid of my silk-lined coffin 5 so fat that my bellyi hung over the edge of my jeansii 6 Phillip C. McGraw, “Dr. Phil’s Weight Loss Advice to His Family,” DrPhil.com, 2004 Harpo Productions, 14 November 2004 <http://www.drphil.com/weightloss/weightloss.jhtml?contentId=2078_family.xml§ion=Weight+Loss+Challenge&subsection=Tips>. 7 turned into a bat 8 flew slowly and awkwardly, hindered by my upper wing fat 9 plasma 10 platelets 11 Fe+2 12 Fat Tire Amber Ale 13 knocked over with my fat bat wing 14 tried in vain to pick them up with my fat bat wings until I got frustrated and used my extrasensory bat powers to will 15 fitness center 16 slowly, awkwardly fly 17 reassumed a human form and lumbered 18 Shirley 19 [sic] 20 neck chub 21 not sucking up blood through a pair of pearly white cuspids 22 HemoglobaTM 23 blood 24 blood 25 pint 26 Ibid. 27 blood 28 protein shakes 29 grams, when in bat form 30 cape 31 4.294967296 +A1 1041 32 Cassie Wu
i neckrolls
ii cape
Many people give up and call it a night when the party ends, but what if your pussy doesn’t hurt? What if you need at least another strong belt of scotch to calm the DTs? Well, the fun doesn’t end just because the party’s over.
More Drinking
Why let the drinking stop when it’s supposed to? Keep the torch lit as long as you can by playing this after-drinking favorite until you forget what loneliness was.
Mario Paint
This game utilizes the classic combination of the permanent marker and someone’s face, but with a twist: this time you draw Mario. Acceptable variations: Mario covered with penises, Mario covered with additional penises.
Reverse Twister
Reclaim your belongings by peeling the pile of bodies now sleeping contentedly upon them, one part at a time. Unlike conventional Twister, no spinner is required as each game and position is unique. “Left face out of that girl’s crotch.”
Dozing
You: (masturbating) thukkathukkathukka… thukka……thukka…thuk (falls asleep)
(10 minutes later)
You: (waking up) Hnuuggh…hrmnah.. thukka…thukkathukka…..thukka (falls asleep)
Rock, Paper, Scissors
for the passed out girl. As a side note, she’s about to play Unconscious Strip Poker.
Supermarket Sweep
It was great of that guy Steve to host the party, but let’s face it, you don’t know him or his roommates and that cabinet by the door is filled with crystal shot glasses. Grab as many fabulous prizes as quickly as you can while avoiding various hazards like vomit, the pizza guy still waiting for his $24.60, and the prizes’ rightful owners. And remember: When the party gets busted and you hear the police, think of all the fun it would be to steal things and then run from the police!
Everybody Get the Fuck out of the Pool
Sometimes I forget why I love America. Sometimes I forget all that fancy freedom talk and democracy speak and just need to get to the roots of why I’m so darn proud of living here.
In my musings, I’ve found that all I really need to do is look at some of America’s achievers to remedy my dilemma: Howard Hughes, Walter Disney, and Sarah L. Winchester, for example. You see, in America, you needn’t be afraid of becoming a wealthy eccentric. Hire whomever you want to do whatever you want with whatever it is you’ve bottled. Your slippery grasp on reality is sure to place you among a long list of “innovative minds” whether or not your fortune was inherited.
What’s more, in America, the obsessive demands of today will become the tourist attractions of tomorrow; people will remember the inspirational story of the Spruce Goose, the elaborate and amusing architecture of the Winchester mystery house, and Disneyland. In America, you’ll simply be “ahead of your time.” You won’t hear about how your queen was crushed by a horse while trying to initiate intercourse with it. That’s not ahead of anyone’s time; that’s just weird.
No, in America, you can make out with clouds and have sex with rainbows. Or at least make that claim. So, feel free to indulge your paranoia for, as they say, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity and in America you get bonus points for trying to walk it.
That’s why every time I don’t quite remember what that special something is about the US of A, I just clothe myself in pancakes and narrate my actions in the third person. Then everything usually turns out all right. Mark finishes this piece by telling the readers to join him and his pre-approved doughnut friends for a Squelch meeting followed by a vigorous, disinfecting pumice scrub. Mark reminds you to forget that he is not wealthy. Mark will see you there.
Power Assignment Meeting
Captain Planet: So we’ve got the four main elements covered and assigned to the proper ethnic stereotype, but what is it that Indians do again?
Gaia: Dot Indian or Feather Indian?
Captain Planet: Umm, dot, I guess.
Gaia: Oh, they can hold their breath forever.
Captain Planet: Really? Every Indian?
Gaia: Yup.
Power Assignment Meeting (continued)
Gaia: Let’s see, we’ve got an American, an African, a Russian, an Asian, and a Latino GAA
Captain Planet: Whoa, whoa, wait a sec, we can’t have two Latinos on the same team!
Gaia: But who’s the other GAA
Captain Planet: …
Gaia: …
Captain Planet: Look over there! [Returns as energy into the rings]
Break Room
Wheeler: My ring controls the power of fire. What does yours do?
Ma-ti: Well, so far I’ve found that animals will generally do my bidding.
[Goat enters]
Wheeler: Really? So, like, for example, you could make that goat sit still for two to three minutes?
Ma-ti: Sure, I guess.
Wheeler: [Unzips pants] Great! Do it or I burn you.
On the Job
Looten Plunder: I’m going to get you, do-gooder!
Ma-ti: Power of Heart, soothe my enemies!
Looten Plunder: …
Ma-ti: Wait…shit…you aren’t an animal, are you?
Looten Plunder: No, I’m from Reno…
Ma-ti: Oh, this is awkward.
Looten Plunder: So…I’m gonna mess you up now…
Ma-ti: [Sighs]
With the Boss
Ma-ti: I mean, come on, Gaia! Heart? What the fuck!!
Gaia: Well, I’m voiced by Whoopi Goldberg. How do you think that makes me feel?
Ma-ti: Fat?
Gaia: RWWWAAAARRRRR!
[They fight]
Ma-ti: Power of Heart, kill the career!
Gaia: YOU CAN’T KILL WHAT IS ALREADY DEAD!
After Hours
Captain Planet: Ma-ti geta GAA get obver herre GAA
Ma-ti: Captain, you’re drunk again.
Captain Planet: Did I evvver tell you shhh…did I evurr tell you that…
Ma-ti: Did you ever tell me what, Captain?
Captain Planet: C’mere shhhhh…didja know I’ma He-She?
Ma-ti: Ah, that explains the unitard GAA
Captain Planet: Annnd I go down on myself.
Ma-ti: What?!?
Captain Planet: What?!?
Dear Heirs and Heiresses,
Thank you for coming to the reading of my will. My lawyer, Bill Edmonds, will be conducting the reading, and is legally obliged to read every word. Since I never liked Bill: shitsucker! I, Bill Edmonds, suck my own nipples! Jshsdnfw8sdffs!
I am unaware as to how I have died. If all has gone according to plan, I died in church, along with hundreds of other parishioners and much of the surrounding neighborhood. I hope to enter heaven in the ensuing confusion. If this fails and I cling to life, I intend to blow myself up after collecting all my family, creditors, and friends into a single room. If this is the case: go ahead and push the button, Bill.
No doubt you are wondering who will receive my $50 million fortune. I won’t leave you in suspense. I am leaving my entire fortune to Bill Edmonds…is a faggy fag. Ha ha! Suck it again, Edmonds! No, in fact my fortune will be left to whoever can multiply 34 by 98 the fastest. Go!
The answer is indeed 3,332. No doubt it’s my nerdy brother who answered first. Richard, you do not receive my money. You receive my collection of rare poisons and expensive wines. Unfortunately, you do not receive the labels. Please leave in the next few minutes or you will also receive my scary ghost collection.
On the subject of my funeral. I like the idea of a viking funeral: a longboat set on fire and pushed down the river. I would also like to be simultaneously cryogenically frozen. Get a shitload of priests for the ceremony, too. Have them fight it out. The winner probably has the right god. I’ve always been partial to Methodists, so slip him a blackjack and a wink. There should also be a choir of golden-voiced eunuchs, freshly gelded only.
My funeral should not be a sad affair. Smiles, all the time! Cameras will be monitoring! And wear clown suits! Smiles even when you’re eating the stuffed canapes, which are stuffed with chili powder and my ashes. I would like the priest to read from the Book of Genesis, only with my name inserted for God. Please applaud at appropriate points. And everyone better give my rotting corpse a big fat kiss, if they want a shot at the Picassos I haven’t already used as toilet paper.
In reality, my vast fortune will go to whoever completes a long series of mental and physical tests, each designed to everyone raise their hand now! Last one up has to leave! Now switch seats, touch your toes, jumping jacks, touch your nose! Last five to finish, leave. However, you all have the option of receiving a pound of solid gold GAA solid gold cast in the shape of violent child pornography. Your call.
A few specific bequests: to my wife, Linda, all the money you want, provided that all the implants I paid for are buried with me. They’re mine. To each of my feuding sons, Harold and Gerald, I bequeath half of a check for fifteen million dollars. However, they are not halves to each other. To Bill, a video of me doing either a very well-made-up actress or his wife. Who is it, Bill, who is it?
The rest of my fabulous fortune I leave to my beloved friend. He or she will know who he or she is, and can claim the fortune as his or her own.
Thank you, and Bill bones dogs,
Michael Spaden III
11/15/04
Eric Hill, a gay Berkeley freshman, is planning to pretend to pass out at a fraternity party in the hope that he will be teabagged.
Fraternity members are infamous for pranking people who pass out from alcohol intoxication by doing something degrading to them, usually of a homosexual nature. Conveniently, Hill loves the taste of scrotum.
Hill’s last attempt at getting some nuts in his mouth ended in failure. He was left with nothing but a crude penis drawn on his face with a Sharpie, a mocking testament to his failure.
