GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #771: 1 YEAR AND 107 DAYS

 I've heard it for years. "If you really want to lose weight, quit drinking." And I said it time and again: "Drinking keeps me in reasonably trim shape." Note I didn't say "good" shape. Every goddam person I said this to said I was wrong. But guess who was actually wrong.

I weighed 242 pounds the night I had my last drink. Not great, but better than where I'm currently at. Now, a year and 107 days later, I weigh 276 pounds.

I also recall when I started consuming cannabis, trying to break away from booze, that everyone said that it would help me get into shape. I told them all it would make me fat. "Just get the edibles without sugar," I was told. Except people don't realize that the weight doesn't come from eating the fucking edible. It comes from eating EVERY FUCKING THING ELSE because the munchies are, indeed, real.

These days I can stick to one dinner, but that doesn't seem to matter because this weight is here to stay. I can't work out because of my bad leg. And no, I can't work out my upper body because of the pain in my hands. And dieting is out of the question. I've spent a lot of my life doing that, and I'm old enough that if I'm going to eat something, I want to enjoy it.

I'd really hoped the colonoscopy would help thin me out a bit. Considering all the liquid shit that passed out of me? I should have lost at least water weight. Nope, I didn't lose a single pound.

Booze kept me looking good. I'd tell people how much I weighed, and they'd be incredulous because I carry my weight really well. Even when I weighed 306 pounds. And I suppose I should get ready to weigh that much again, if the trend continues.

And I'm pretty sure it will. Getting old sucks. I don't recommend it. As your attorney I advise you to stop aging at 25.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #353: COOKING WITH BRUNI

 Those of you who have known me the longest know that I can't cook for shit. I have--no kidding--fucked up making cereal at least a half-dozen times in my life. I have set three kitchens on fire (so far). I couldn't even microwave something.

I really don't know what it is, but I recently decided to change that. I think there might have been a block in my mind, but I figured out a way to unblock it about, eh, three or four months back. That's a story for another day. But I put all my effort into learning how to cook, and guess what.

It turns out I'm good at it. Not great. Good. At least, as far as I'm concerned. I'm only cooking for myself, and I make some damn tasty food.

I started simple with soup and rice. I graduated to spaghetti and other pasta. I learned how to use the microwave. I learned how to make eggs. Then I moved on to that great McDonald's breakfast sandwich that has been discontinued: the Egg White Delight. That's a great hunk of food right there, and I was able to replicate it perfectly.

(And no, I didn't make Canadian bacon to go with it. I do not like Canadian bacon, I do not like it, whatever rhymes with Canadian bacon.)

I moved on to tacos, which are very good provided I eat them right away. I decided to recreate that great Taco Bell food item that was discontinued: the Beefy Quesarito, and goddammit, I knocked that one out of the park. I make 'em big enough to feed a family of four for a week. It's what I made tonight.

Yeah, I know. This probably isn't very impressive to most, but before this I couldn't toast a Pop Tart. I think I'm moving on to meat balls soon, and I plan to use every sexual innuendo possible while doing so. Same for bacon. Real bacon, I mean.

In related news, I'm blowing up in size yet again. Mostly because I'm high every night instead of drunk. The muchies is a real thing. People say that I can't get fat from eating gummies, but they don't think about me shoving all the food I can down my gullet in order to make the crave go away.

So yeah, I should probably stop that. Maybe.