Category Archives: Who’s the FAT guy?
Okay, its 8 days since Thanksgiving and THAT means, only 3 days ago, I finally switched back to my REGULAR pants from the post-gorging, elastic-banded, STREEEETCHY sweat pants I’ve been living in since Thursday.
But I’m STILL one belt notch away from where I was BEFORE I started using cupfuls of gravy to eek down my third traditional post Thanksgiving sandwich – a pile of turkey, garnished with cranberry sauce, stuffing and mashed potatoes smashed between 2 pieces of buttered Texas Toast bread. (Yeah, like YOU, I’m gettin’ PUKE in the back of my throat just thinkin’ of how incredibly sickening that sounds.)
By the way, ya ever notice how some guys realize that they WON’T EVER get back into their pre-Thanksgiving Day pants and take it with pride?
Then ya have these other guys that REFUSE to concede when it’s time to buy a bigger pair of drawers. They refuse to admit that a 32-inch waist was 12 years and a lot of pizza, beer and donuts ago. And for SOME reason, they STILL snug-up that belt to the worn out 32-inch belt notch of yesteryear. (Yeah, like YOU, once again I’m gettin’ that PUKE in the back of my throat thinking of the Michelin Man look!)
Some guys even shift the belt down their pelvis so that the ol’ 32-inch feels a little more comfortable. They stand up straight, shimmy the belt down with their thumbs and say, “yep, there’s a THIRTY TOOOOO down here somewhere!”
Of course, there’s a Little Johnny joke accusing me of making fun of my dad for bein’ outta shape:
Little Johnny was looking through the family album and asked his mother, “Who’s this guy on the beach with you with all the muscles and curly hair?”
“That’s your father,” she replied.
“Then who’s that old bald-headed fat piece of “SOAP WORD” who lives with us now?” asked Little Johnny.
Now I have told you about my parents being strict in a previous post. Even if I DID think that my dad was a fat piece of “SOAP WORD” I wouldn’t even THINK it cuz he was a mind reader. And when my dad got mad, he’d make me do push-ups or knee-bends.
But when he was REALLY mad, my dad would put me in a headlock and tug the short-hairs on the back of my neck! Doesn’t sound bad? Keep this in mind, my dad actually WAS over weight, he only wore a tank-top style t-shirt around the house and he sweated worse than a Kardashian sister that was told to get a REAL JOB. Get it now? Yeah, a headlock meant that my face was in my dad’s stinky, hairy armpit usually smeared against the RIGHT GUARD aerosol residue thathad collected on the tips of his armpit hairs. See? Now ya get it? And say NOTHIN’ of the nasty, flannel-colored belly button lint that would hang out of his expoxed belly crater.
(Yeah, like YOU, I’m gettin’ PUKE in the back of my throat AGAIN!!!)
My whole point? I didn’t talk “SOAPWORD” on my dad, EVER!!
Thoughts on holiday weight gain?? Leave a comment.