BMI...you kiss your mama with that mouth?

Since we last spoke, I was nabbed by the Fatty Police. My crime...2 counts over legal BMI with plus size intent. My BFC (blood fat content)... was over 50%... not pretty. I've been committing said crime for... oh...36 years... so getting caught with my fat ass hanging out was no surprise. As you are well aware, I enjoy eating more than....well anything, so this was bound to happen sooner or later. I plead guilty and asked to be sentenced post haste for a few very logical reasons: A. My "court suit" doesn't exactly fit anymore B. Exhibit A, B and C would surely pass their expiration dates by time of said trial and C. It's hard to say you aren't guilty when they have to haul you into court on a flatbed pick-up!!! Hello! I found the punishment a bit harsh for a first time offender (OK so it's the first time I've been caught). I was given the death sentence...House Arrest. Make no mistake...it's a pain much worse than death. I was hoping for a lethal injection of used KFC grease pumping through my veins whilst the faint taste of fried chicken passed through my mouth until such time that my arteries clogged causing my untimely death and an end to the madness! * Pause for dramatic effect* But no...I was forced to live in my house amongst the crack with my repeat offender husband and "the arm band."

I know what you are thinking...."They made you live with your husband?!" Yes, yes they did. Clearly fatty discrimination at it's best. So now I get to watch him eat Little Debbie and I can't even get on rotation for missionary sex! Where's the justice in that? She's a ho...ho. Anyway, let's discuss the 2nd part of my new torturous existence. It's an arm band called "Go Wear Fit." Sounds yippee skippy right? Wrong. It should be called "You Fat Bitch." Its an arm band that calculates every step, every calorie burned and get this...even how well I sleep. It doesn't have to be turned on, it's useless without me and I hardly know it's there. So...I re-named it "Dick." Anyway, every morning I download piles of useless information about myself. For example...did you know that on a seemingly normal night I sleep for 7:15 at 68% effectiveness? Add a little Vodka to my "Dick" and I shoot up to 8:03 at 85% effectiveness. Amazing. Here's a little SIF trick to keep drinking while on fatty probation: Skinny Girl Martini's: 1/2 pack sugar free black cherry Koolaide, 6 oz water, 4 oz Vodka, ice, shake and top with diet Black Cherry Soda. Don't let the name scare you...it's a cross over drink.

So here's the best part of this whole crime & punishment scenario...I am my own keeper. Picture it this way....you walk into a prison and all of the inmates are wearing a "band" to monitor where they go, give them boundaries and set daily goals for production. No guards. Just pre-set goals calculated into the "band." At the end of the day, said criminals must tell the "band" what they did all day so that the "band" can decide if they are on their way to a life a freedom or solitary confinement. If you were "Ray Ray Levi Crip" would you tell the little "band" how you shanked 4 inmates and came out of the closet or would you give yourself extra points for exceeding your license plate quota? Exactly. So when the little "band" wants to know what I ate for the day what do you suppose I tell it? *Pause for shocker** I went for a lifetime of freedom....I was honest. Which, by the way, is overrated. "They" say that honesty makes you feel better. Whatever! Like everything else, honesty makes me hungry!!!

I tried logging extra hours of good behavior in the form of running, biking and even weight lifting. Do you think early parole was in my future.... no. It seems that the calories I've been eating add up much quicker than the good behavior. I feel I am a victim of fatty profiling. How else can a ham sandwich, a few chips and a diet Coke add up to 2000 calories?! It's "the man" keeping me down. Yeah, that's it. The "band" has been pre-programmed by "the man" to make me think I am overeating so that I will give up hope of life on the outside therefore forcing me to have an affair with Little Debbie fulfilling my husbands wildest fantasy. Sick F'r. How is it possible that I work out 3 x a day, eat less and gain a pound when the calculations of the band say I should have lost 4?! Huh? Tell me! Diga me! Trickery! Being that the "band" cost a small fortune I couldn't very well throw it out. So I opted to throw out the scale. Vindicated for now.