Junk Food Madness.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and I’m a terrible fat bastard at the minute. I haven’t felt this way much since I stopped drinking almost 5 months ago. I’d eat and drink so much on a Saturday night that exercising on a Sunday seemed pointless. I’d taken too many steps backwards for anything worthwhile to come of today.
You know those goofy American sitcoms where all the Friends or the Seinfelds or the other fucking Cunts are sitting around having the epic lols whilst chowing down on pizza and drinking one beer with their perfect mouths and perfect teeth? I use that type of horsewankery to justify my own junk food consumption thinking that it’s ok. Even though I have a fat head and a mouth like a crumpled crossword blowing around a Balkan cityscape, I still mindlessly plough through all of the food.
Take me to one of your fancy Yankee diners to get me away from the austere Protestant greasy spoon that’s my soul.
Last night I had pizza. I had chocolate. I had Cherry Coke. I tried to eat healthily with some bullet chilli peppers but they burned my tongue so badly that I had to go and buy a bottle of Frij milkshake which contains about 7,000 calories a bottle. I drank it in one and went straight back up to the store and bought A MARS FUCKING MILKSHAKE. Thankfully I got served by a different person otherwise I’d have had to lie and say it was for my girlfriend which would have made shit even more troubling and depressing (if possible at this point).
I got to the point where I stopped caring last night. I’d eaten so much shit that the only answer was to eat more and more of the same. Push the madness for one last night. Besides, if I woke up diabetic tomorrow I could’ve started a new blog where I chronicled my struggles with having Sugar Puffs piss.
4,000 calories. 5,000 calories. 6,000 calories. It’s getting hilarious now. Why not try for 10,000 and eat all of the tasty yum-yums?
I swore to myself that I’d run 50 miles in order to make up for all of this decadence. Then I woke up this morning feeling like shit. I didn’t want to run half a mile let alone 50. I could feel the chilli peppers work their way through to my bumhole and couldn’t risk painting my legs brown whilst out on the trails.
The only way I could feel anything other than complete fucking hatred for myself was to BUY MORE JUNK FOOD FOR BREAKFAST. YES. THAT’S THE FUCKING ANSWER. More of the same for the void in my soul. I got three croissants and Haribo Croco. This isn’t normal behaviour. If I was a real man I’d have tried putting the Crocos onto the croissants and left them in the microwave for an hour, but I didn’t as I’m a silly impatient blowhard cunt.
At least I didn’t drink. If I pick up that first drink today then my life is gonna be unbearably shit for the rest of my days and I refuse to cave into that fucking shitty insidious addiction again. I can live with myself and my junk eating ways, but I can’t go back to being a pisshead.