There is absolutely nothing good on TV this week. And yet?
I am morbidly obese. It should be the other way around!
Normally—in the fall, winter, and spring—when my TiVo is
brimming with succulent selections of TV offerings, my body is svelte,
my muscles are hard, and my nipples? Perky. HOWEVER! Even though the
past couple of weeks have been a goddamn TV wasteland, I’m gaining so
much weight, I’m starting to resemble that walking tub of ass-butter
Dr. Phil! So the next time I hear any “respected scientist” blaming the
rise of national obesity on increased television viewing, I’m going
to waddle right up to that skinny jerkface and say, “Television
didn’t cause my morbid obesity, blowhole! It was that goddamn ICE-CREAM
MAN!”
Here’s my sad tale: For the entire month of June, this newspaper’s
office was wildly ignored by the neighborhood
ice-cream truck. There I would sit, working diligently on this
column (or watching waterskiing-accident videos on YouTube) when I’d
hear it far in the distance… the jingling electronic tones of “Turkey
in the Straw!”
“IIIIIIIICCCCCEEEEEE CRREEEEAAAAAMMMMMM!” I’d loudly
moan in a mentally handicapable way. Launching out of my seat, I would
knock over computers and interns in a mad rush to get to the door. And
yet? It’s a little hard to buy ice cream from the ice-cream vendor when
his goddamn truck is screaming past at 40 miles per hour!! Instead of delicious, sticky ice cream, all I would get was a
mouthful of dust as the fading sound of “Turkey in the Straw” melted
into the distance.
Well, one day I’d had enough, and I chased the ice-cream truck a
humiliating 14 blocks before I finally stopped him and coerced him into
making our office—and particularly my desk—a regular stop
on his route.
That was one month ago. He has since showed up at our office EVERY
SINGLE DAY, stopping his truck right outside my window. Then he beckons
me: “Turkey in the Straw” blaring, waving a Choco Taco like he was a
two-guilder whore in Amsterdam. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RESIST THAT??
HOW?!?
Anyhoo, 47 Choco Tacos later, look at me! Whoopee! I’m morbidly
obese! And since the skinny people of the world openly despise my
demographic, I suppose I should consider myself lucky that
television happily caters to the 3.8 million fatsos in America,
with weight-loss reality shows like The Biggest Loser (NBC,
Tues, 8 pm), Dance Your Ass Off (Oxygen, Mon, 10 pm), and this
week’s debut of More to Love (Fox, Tues July 28, 9 pm).
It’s kind of like The Bachelor—that is, if the bachelor in
question weighed 300 pounds and the 20 bachelorettes’ cumulative weight
equaled that of the moon.
But this is a really important show, you guys! More to Love is intended to prove that fatties like me deserve love and romance just
like the rest of you “skinnies.” And just because I can’t see my
penis when I look down doesn’t mean it’s not there. It works just
like yours—and I know this because I looked in the mirror and…
wait. What’s that sound?
IIIIIIIICCCCCEEEEEE CRREEEEAAAAAMMMMMM!
