Paging Fatty McButterpants

Okay, let's try this again.

A few months ago, I embarked on a quest to defeat my greatest foe: a Star Jones-esque waistline. Not content to simply be fat, I have gone the extra mile to achieve Homer Simpson status. "All my life I've been an obese man inside a fat man's body." It was getting so bad that I was sweating butter. Something had to be done.

So, I jumped on the Atkins bandwagon (which subsequently shattered). The first week was difficult, as I resorted to licking my television during Sonic commercials. (Why, oh why, aren't there any Sonic franchises in Philly?) After surviving Pez withdraw, it became much easier to pass on carbs, and believe it or not, the weight came off.

Editor's note: I want to stress that losing weight is difficult for those with will power. It is even more difficult for those with as much will power as Teddy Kennedy during Happy Hour. Simply stated, diet soda sucks, and potato chips have a svengali-like hold on my puny brain.

In the meantime, fourteen pounds got outta Dodge, and my muumuu was not as binding. Of course, fourteen pounds from my girth is a drop in the bucket of cheese fries. Mmm . . . cheese fries! What was I saying again? Oh, yeah, Atkins. The flubber came off, but I was feeling sick to my stomach, so I surrendered like a Frenchman. Expectedly, the fourteen pounds returned through no fault of my own. The burgers said if I don't eat them, I'd never see my family again. Like any good family man, I succumbed.

So, as of today, I'm back with the late Dr. Atkins. Playing ice hockey will help, and the missus picked up the necessary carb-free items from the market. Feel free to mock and humiliate me into staying on course. I need the help.