Super Size This!

I was originally planning on this piece being nothing but jokes about this Sudden Atkins Attack that our nation is facing; but before we take a dip in these dangerous Carb-infested waters, let me tell you about something far more disturbing than the dead Doc and his bacon and butter recipe for better health. As my trusty sidekick Adam Mast has so aptly reported on zboneman.com, the most sought after tickets at this years Sundance Film Festival were for a frightening little documentary called "Super-Size Me." In which a daring young film maker named Morgan Spurlock chronicles his attempt to become the next Subway Jared.

Inspired by the much publicized case of two overweight women who unsuccessfully attempted to sue McDonalds for making them fat, Spurling (a 30 year old man, who had his physical fitness and good health thoroughly measured in advance - complete with second opinions), set out on a journey of discovery: His mission - Eat only McDonalds food--breakfast, lunch and dinner for an entire month. His goal - Prove that you can lose weight no matter where you eat. His fate? Not so good. After the first week his eyesight began to falter, which was soon followed by occasional paralysis on the left side of his body. After two weeks he began suffering dizziness when he stood, nausea when he sat, his spleen became enlarged to the size of a grapefruit, and he was eventually hospitalized after finding his penis under the front seat of his car. "Would you like to Super Size that?"

As a means by which I might amuse you, I've exaggerated all this a bit, but frighteningly enough the man "did" nearly die of McDonalds. He was literally one Happy Meal away from the Happy Hunting Ground, and even more tragic he "gained" 25 pounds. No doubt a cautionary tale for us all. Personally I don't care much for McDonalds food, mostly because it totally sucks - there isn't a menu item on the board that isn't out to kill you. Unfortunately my young daughters don't share their Father's discerning taste in fast food and thus I've subjected them to many a Happy Meal. I've been innocently abusing my children in the interest of convenience and well . . . happiness. In a fashion I've suffered for my sins, because Happy Meals come with little worthless, plastic toys that are sharp and jagged and I step on them in the dark. Many a night have I paid.

"I can take your order whenever you're ready?" "Yea, give me two cheeseburger Hazard Meals, no pickles," "And what to drink?" "Let's see, have you got Ipecac?" "Ipecac to drink, that'll be $4.67 at the first window." Children, God love them, have no idea what's good for them and after over 6 years of hands-on child rearing experience, I've stumbled across the secret--there's always a trick. My kids are smart, but I've been workin' a reverse-psych angle, that's got 'em fooled into desiring nutritious treats. You see, I've got my girls convinced that candy and soda and Twinkies and Ding Dongs are good for you. Health Food. I don't hide it away, I got it all over the joint, it's all you can eat, I'm Willie freakin' Wonka. But check out my mind game--fruits and vegetables on the other hand, they're not something you can just have anytime you want. I'm all about, "I don't know, you're gonna have to ask your Mom." It's working like a charm. I used to be a kid myself - they're always up to no good. Carrots to my kids are like Pop Rocks to when I was growing up. Dangerously wonderful. I'm sick with this thing some call genius!

So anyway I'm glad I'm not in the carbohydrate business. You've got to imagine some sort of crazed Wall Street frenzy, grown men trampling over other grown men trying to sell their clients' shares of Frito Lay, "Sell! Sell! Frito Lay Sell Sell." How the hell did all of this happen so fast? They have an entire "Atkins Friendly" aisle in the damn grocery stores. Overnight. It's like some sort of conspiracy, they're taking away our cherished American freedoms and rights and stuff - our French fries, our potato chips, our beer. To hell with Bin Laden, and the Iraqis - let's stop this Atkins guy. Actually, as I alluded to above, Dr. Atkins is already on a permanent low-carb diet. Take the "T" off of diet - that's what happened to him.

What sucks the worst about this Atkins deal is all the sudden there's nothing to eat anything "on!" He's robbed us of all our meat delivery mechanisms - our "Protein Props." Buns, tortillas, pitas, pasta, crackers, chips, rice, slices of freakin' bread! You want meat? Then you better go get a damn plastic fork. Next thing you know napkins and plates are going to be on the black list.

And as far as snacks go - you can pretty much kiss them goodbye. If you don't like Jerky, you might as well forget about snacks. Sometimes a big fella like me gets a little peckish, feels like a little bite - something light and crunchy. So I've experimented, what I do now is take a stick of butter, deep fry it, cut it into bite-sized chunks and smother 'em in nacho sauce. Trust the doctor, your arteries won't know the difference. You gotta change with the times, roll with the punches, go with the flow, die with your boots on, where am I going with this?

The funniest irony of this whole Atkins business is that it's finally come full circle for KFC. Once the family favorite, the all-American meal, then made to suffer at the hands of so many, many diet crazes, "fried food is bad, you should eat tofu and celery." All the sudden KFC is perfectly suited for your new diet, in fact it's your only safe bet for a satisfying dining experience. It just goes to show that if you hang in there long enough and don't give up, the shit can come your way again. Somewhere up there, Colonel Sanders is smiling down on us freakin numbnuts - that is, if he's not still blind. Ordering the sides is tricky though - you gotta watch that part. "Give me potatoes and gravy--hold the potatoes. And uh, Cole Slaw, with no Cole . . . and actually no Slaw either, thank you." Just fry me up a dead bird and gimme a jug of diet root beer. Yessir, I gotta healthy myself up! Lose some weight, I've got about 25 tank-tops waiting for me to get in shape. Y'see, I've been known to wear a wife-beater or two in my day - even though I know people make fun of me behind my back, if not right to my face. I can't hold a grudge though - I'd be jealous too, I suppose. A man of my advanced years lookin' all buff in a tank, it's only natural that they'd envy a specimen such as myself. The reason I can delude myself like this is because I have this really flattering mirror in my house. Though I will admit that the difference between what that mirror tells me and what a photograph reports is surprisingly different.
    
Even if I'm wrong it's nothing more that a little wardrobe malfunction - just like Justin Timberlake said. I've gotta say, that far sadder than anything I've reported above, is this whole Janet Jackson scandal. I really was shocked by that one. I swear I was watching it just like my wife, and all the sudden she says, "did you see that? Justin just reached over and pulled out her boob?" And I'm like, "bullcrap, he did not - this is the Super Bowl" - and she's all "he pulled off her thing and her boob fell out!" Frankly I was appalled by the whole thing, I really can't believe I missed it. I've clearly lost a step, because instead of keeping a close eye on her boobs like I should've been - I was trying to tell whether or not she was lip-synching. That's just gay. I'm slippin' man, that's all there is to it. "Damnit Janet," I'm losing my game. I better get myself some of those Super Bowl boner pills. Or Tivo - whichever is less expensive.