Fat.

as i sit at home
i grow to look more pregnant
moodiness ensues

:: dusts off keyboard ::

Day two-hundred and seventeen of Chulo's unemployment has led him to the ultimate revelation -- he has become fat. And it isn't the typical "Christmas Fat" that usually accompanies winter and holiday eating -- this is more of the "Second Trimester" fat that no self respecting individual would like to admit to having, especially outside of pregnancy. Due to the fact that I am a male, I should not be having any kind of trimester fat.

It should be interesting to note that I have learned to cook, but there is no doubt that my gratuitous use of butter and whole milk while cooking has added to the pounds that I have gained. Some would argue that I look "healthier" but we know what they're really saying -- they're saying I look fattened up. Plump. Ready for slaughter. "Healthy" is merely an adjective that is used by those who set out not to offend. It's one of those candy-coated terms -- you would find it next to "big-boned" or "special".

With the abundance of time that I have on my hands, I look out my window and see the ghetto youth of the Bronx out in the streets. I can only wonder how they maintain their body structure. They can't possibly be going to Crunch fitness every day because they're out in the streets 24/7, nor do I believe that they're well fed. Is it possible that if I can copy their dietary plans and keep up outside all day and night that I might be able to loose the pounds and have a washboard stomach. Perhaps the key to fitness includes eating platanos and hanging from the walk/don't walk signs that are attached to street poles.

You see it in the Dominican Republic too -- most of the boys got some sick bodies - all kinds of tone and cut up. They live in the jungle and swim in the rio, so I suppose that out running some feral beast while en-route to the watering hole would keep you in tip top condition. Again, it comes back to the platanos.

But aren't they starch? you're asking yourself... Yeah, they are, and that's why it makes no sense. If my stomach wouldn't object every ten minutes, I would fast for a week. I can't deal with the stomach conversations tho. I don't know what to do anymore. As I am unemployed I can't go to the gym because I can't pay for it -- once I become employed I won't have time for the gym so I won't go. Talk about a fucking paradox! What am I to do? I could always donate the fat to some kind of scientific research firm, but I don't know if I would be a suitable subject for experimentation.

Damn, I turned into the only disgusting motherfucker over the shortest period of time. I feel the need to procure drugs and go on the only diet to rid myself of this disgusting abomination that is my gut. If I could get an abortion I would. There must be something growing inside of me at an unnatural rate. It is about to break the sound barrier, that's how fast it's growing.

Anyone got a good plastic surgeon that they could refer me to... I have no health insurance so I'll have to pay them with cans...