For a hundred bucks, I’ll tell you how to lose forty pounds in ten days

by Ken Carpenter

The world has a way of becoming obsessed with certain things and then forgetting to get de-obsessed about them. Skinny is the first thing that comes to mind.
Back in the sixties there was a British model named Twiggy (no doubt her given name) who was all the rage. Her legs looked like rake handles, her arms were like white pepperoni sticks, and her rear end could fit in teacup.
Her overall appearance made even me, a teenage boy, feel a motherly urge to cram four cheeseburgers down her throat.
Unfortunately for the civilized world, humans will mimic anything that becomes popular. The half-starved look came into being and it has never left.
I got on the Internet the other day and typed diets in the search window. When the first page came up I was flabbergasted to learn that it contained the first twenty listings of 2,050,000 hits. No lie.
At twenty per page I could spend the rest of my life searching for the perfect diet.
Five-day jumpstarts, thirty-five pounds off in thirty-five days (Guaranteed!), any plan you want anytime you want. You just have to be willing to shell out the dough for that professional guidance.
Personally I think a fat guy in a dingy little office smelling of deep fried lard balls designs most of these diets. His paycheck comes from all the TV stations.
The funny thing about dieting is that many of the people on them are probably only five or ten pounds overweight. They compare themselves to all the bony celebrities they spend half their time watching, so they naturally start to think they are not skinny enough.
If the scarecrow wannabes look closer, they will notice that every one of their role models has the features of an angel or the chiseled good looks of an Adonis. Average looking people need not apply.
Looking at all this perfection makes some people think they are not only flabby, but ugly too. They decide they just have to shed those extra, at times imaginary, pounds.
Unfortunately there is no cure for ugly. That’s OK though, because it is most likely imaginary as well.
People on restrictive diets like nothing better than talking about food. I think their taste buds actually kick in when an especially tasty dish is described.
I overheard a lady drooling at the prospect of being allowed a two-ounce steak for dinner. Heck, some folks dig that much out from between their teeth after a meaty meal.
I think everybody should be a few pounds over the prescribed weight for their height. They just look more comfortable that way.
Now is probably the opportune time to announce that I too am on my idea of a diet. Slim Fasts for breakfast and lunch, and all I can hog down for dinner.
I just need to get rid of some of that bumpy-road jiggling I have been enduring lately.
I first became aware of diet shakes back in the sixties. A fellow I knew decided they would be just the ticket for a man about town.
This guy’s body was in a quandary. His enormous behind was in a constant battle with his pompous attitude for leadership of the rest of the body.
The attitude decided to get rid of the competition once and for all, with the help of diet shakes.
Alas, the behind was a sneaky adversary. Every day the dieter would open up his lunch box at work and pull out a six-pack of the tasty shakes.
None of them survived the lunch hour.
Needless to say, the lifelong battle for supremacy continued, fueled by the behind’s sudden surge of popularity.
There is a minor struggle going on in my body too, and the belly seems to be winning.
My smart-aleck attitude has a card up his sleeve though.
I wonder what that belly would have to say about a little exercise?

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