Pretty Sure This Is A Direct Sign From God Telling Me To Forget About Being Healthy

You see, I’m a medium rare steak guy and bacon cheeseburger lover to the point if I live past 40 I will consider my life a complete failure. The Smitty Credo on the weekends, along with doubling down on the Bundy’s, is “Give Me 500 Degrees Or Give Me Death!” Usually more than twice. But after yet another Summer of true debauchery and seeing how some other bloggers on the site are a steep flight of stairs away from their hearts exploding, I decided to go to the film and do some self scouting. I mean, throwing out your stats as 6’3 230 isn’t exactly a good thing unless you’re playing ILB on Sundays in the fall.

Recently I enlisted a friend, who also happens to be the best dietitian/nutritionist in Philly, to help me out and maybe shrink the face down a couple sizes. For the longest 10 days of my life she has me on a diet only a damn squirrel or smelly hipster would be excited about. Basically just nuts, grains, and greens. All this happy organic horseshit that I can probably find for free in a backyard but is $45/lb with a swift kick to the dick at Whole Foods. It only took a couple hours into the diet before I started getting the shakes from withdraw. One of the main “meals” of the day is a blueberry based smoothie, annndddd this is what happened the first time I tried to make one:

And that was that. Use a blender once and the walls and ceiling of my place look like someone bludgeoned a Smurf to death with a hammer. And yes, I’m an idiot of epic proportions, but at least I have the proper amount of chromosomes to remember the lid before starting the blender. The problem was I (solely because this is how I see people do it on TV) was holding the top down a little too hard. The glass* thing in the middle of the rubber lid popped through to the bottom and things instantly went apeshit. I’m honestly lucky to be alive. One of those shards of glass and/or seeds could’ve nipped my jugular. The worst part is how the hell do you go about getting a bunch of blueberry moneyshots off one’s ceiling? Usually during messes I take the Big Daddy approach and cover up piss with newspaper and call it a day. Water, Mr. Clean, and good ol’ fashioned elbow grease didn’t do dick. What else can be done besides the inevitable “Fuck it” and pray the landlord doesn’t notice the murder scene?

So I guess you can add operating a blender alongside changing a tire, ice skating, using propar grammer., stopping at one drink, and keeping a woman on the long list of simple tasks people in society can easily complete but for some reason I can not. Thank God the only real skill this job requires is holding back the urge to go Horrible Bosses on your superior because his horses have better healthcare than you. And by that I just mean healthcare in general. Would love to be eating whatever’s in those troughs for dinner tonight.

*And you’re damn right I drank the remains. Nothing goes to waste in this house. Plus chewing on glass builds character, or so what every high school football coach claims.