Emaciathon Begins!

I'm on my way people! On Tuesday, I started the monumentous task of shedding my childhood baby weight. It's only a few pounds or maybe just slightly more than that, or a lot. So here's the plan:

First off, no scale. F**k that scale. Yep, that one right there. Do you really need a scale to tell you your fat? I think some clues are:

a) the buckling around the shirt buttons.
b) waistband rollover.
c) belt curling.
d) you're fat.

Just a few clues. I'm sure you have your own.

Second, I went back on the only diet that I've been successful with, Atkins. I'll be feeding on, pretty much, meat and any vegetable that'll force out water weight (Asparagus, anyone? Don't mind the smell, it's quaint). It helps that I like bacon. Ask me in a few weeks whether I still like it, and I'll probably kill you for the lifesavers in your pocket (are they warm?).

Third, I'm exercising daily (Cardio, Weight training, Delusions). Lucky for me, I'm not doing this alone, my wife and a friend are doing the same things.

You have to have support to lose weight, just like when you gain wait. Particularly nowadays, when social gatherings seem to have the solitary goal of fattening up the crowd. If you're fat, I bet you've got friends that are, too. Look around, I'm not saying it's a conspiracy; I'm just sayin' you have support to stay fat. It's there.

So my goal is total emaciation by my pub date. I won't be happy until all you faithful readers show up at my signing to find me wheeling around an I.V. and slurping my dinner of a diet coke.