The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Two

I bought myself a present.

Eggs, Sugar, Milk, Cream and Brown Liquor? You better believe Egg Nog is my move.

If you’ve read this blog before you’ve met my friends The Enabler and Naturally Thin. I have another friend whose name is Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note. YFSSLaSN had the audacity to tell me the other night that she requested chocolate from her office “Secret Santa.” She expected me to be excited but my reaction was something more akin to screaming “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?” at her in the supermarket parking lot. After I berated her, I collected my thoughts and thanked her for reminding me that my work in this world is far from over. Here are a few more tips to help you manage your holiday eating…

  1. What are we really celebrating here? Mary giving birth in a manger? So what? At least there was hay. Your white trash neighbor Tawny gave birth to a baby in a Taco Bell bathroom, and after I moved to L.A. my best friend played her on I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Both of those things sound way more impressive and yet neither one of them sounds like an excuse to eat.
  2. Remember: At least one member of your family is going to buy you an item of clothing in a size that’s too big- which is basically like they called you fat and put a bow on it. The 25 sugar cookies you ate last Christmas are probably the reason your uncle thinks you wear a medium.
  3. Before you hit that dessert tray, imagine you’re at an E-Cupid holiday mixer in the ballroom at the Burbank Marriott. Now imagine that the piece you’re trying to kick it to eats the chimney off a gingerbread house. Would you still hit it? Doubtful.
  4. While Prosecco seems de rigueur at every holiday brunch, try to monitor your intake. You do not want to be the guy that winds up feeding the host’s dog bits of sausage and egg casserole off your plate and asking him if he likes it. It’s the kind of thing that sticks to your reputation, like having to register for the sex offender’s list, or contracting a nasty case of Scientology. Hard to shake, and no one ever really trusts you again.
  5. Speaking of animals,  if you find yourself at a holiday party where the host has cats, re-evaluate your friendship it’s best not to eat anything. Contrary to what they may say, the food undoubtedly has cat hair in it.
  6. Sure, Santa is fat and jolly, but he has elves to do things for him. Cleaning up after your holiday party is not nearly as fun as logging hours in Santa’s workshop and your domestic help doesn’t get to ride Rudolph home. They have to stand at a bus stop in Beverly Hills (dodging the cigarette butts all the Armenians are throwing out the windows of their white Mercedes) while they wait for their ride to Northridge, you lazy, well-fed S.O.B.
I'd say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this of getting laid tonight.

I’d say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this getting laid tonight.

 

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One Response to The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Two

  1. Pingback: So…I’m Training Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note | The Fat Kid in Me

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