Diet Riot

The one thing that annoys me the most about diets, is that there are too many of them. Of course, every know-it-all on the planet feels they have the answer. What I have noticed through the years though, is that very few people actually keep the weight off. The problem is that as a society we are creatures of habit, and that creature happens to be a glutonous sow. Habits are hard to break. Let’s face it, nobody wants to grow as big as a double decker bus. One must be somewhat dilligent, however, the road to healthy eating is about as smooth as eating a bowl of gravel.
I start off doing really well. I eat healthy oatmeal with fruit for breakfast, a nice salad for lunch, but by the time the evening rolls around, I stand at the fridge like Jason in a horror flick looking at the cheese like I’m about to mass murder. The hardest part is eating the right foods so that you aren’t depriving your body and end up looking as old as a wrinkled knee cap. Everyone seems to have a different idea about what is healthy and what isn’t.
I wouldn’t say I have no will power. I can go for a decent length of time denying myself of what I really want to eat. But folks, when I start craving something it speaks to me like I’ve summoned a hellhound on my shoulder, and I become as weak as a one hundred year old arm wrestling grandmother. It also doesnt help that I work in a supermarket, ringing in a million different delicous, death trap morsels every day.
A few days ago this fellow walked into my place of employment with his girlfriend yammering about how they are both on a high fat diet and they both lost seventy pounds. I scrunched my eyebrows and inspected both of them for a moment in disbelief. I eyeballed them up and down. They both looked like runway models. “You can still eat chicken wings and cheese,” he continued. “Don’t screw with me, man,” is all I could think of to say. I honestly thought he’d lost his marbles. Either that, or he was running in a pagent as a world class douche in denial. I pondered about his diet for a moment. All I could invision in my mind is every artery in my body clogging up with plaque, like a street vegabond with a gob of crusty teeth, and then exploding into a massive heart attack.
Yes, I know that if you can’t pick it, pluck it or shoot it, it’s not real food. However this journey is about as easy as fitting a wort hog through the eye of a needle. I know you are probably thinking this is a lifestyle change and not a diet, but don’t kid yourself. It’s still a diet. Or perhaps torture. You may as well just pull out my fingernails with rusty pliers, one by one.