Lights Out...

Or back on as it were. Mine went out three years ago. And not because I failed to pay the power bill. I could care less about electricity quite frankly. My man runs on batteries. No monthly bill..no back talk. It's freakin genius. Perhaps you aren't hip to the light that should be shining between your legs? Should, being the operative word. And no, I'm not talking about dick. If you find a mind who illuminates your beav... please private message me his digits. I could use a surge right about now. In any event, stop what you're doing and look between your legs. No, not at your vagina. Damn you SIF have a one track mind! Put your feet together and look at the creases (between your legs) from your vag to your feet. For the record there should be 3. One between your ankles and calves, one between your calves and inner thighs and one between your inner thighs and vag. They should be oval shaped. In theory light should be shining through the holes. For those of you residing in total darkness, emergency power is available. I believe they call it P90X, as it were.

I don't know what enlightened idiot decided to share this piece of useless information with me years ago. If I happen to remember...I will cut you. In addition to jumping on the scale every 10 seconds, I now count creases. It's very "Rain Man." In the lean years I had more than enough light to go around. Then darkness descended upon all that is me. It's no fun keeping your pussy in the dark. The kitty likes light. I feel like there should be some sort of back-up beaver generator for the dark, depressing fat days. I've looked. There's not. Guys come up with so many useless gadgets. Of course they wouldn't have a clue about pussy illumination. That would make sense. Hell we might even be able to assemble it without calling in a specialist. Crazy talk. Anyway, let there be light! I'm happy to say my "girl" is basking in the sun once again! Three creases and 34lbs later I believe myself to be marketable.

 *Disclaimer- if you find yourself obsessively counting creases and measuring light fractions, don't blame me. I already told you, some other asshole is responsible. Appreciate the additional blow to your self esteem and move on*

Being that I am a solution based fatty (in addition to feral and food aggressive) let's take a look under the hood...or better yet...in the cart and see if we can't shed some light.

We are officially 2 weeks into the New Year.  I'm confident your first trip to the gym ended with a visit to some random drive-thru. It's hard to go from "Pookie" to "Snookie" overnight. And if your aspirations include "Snookie" you might as well just stay fat. Fat is much classier. I promise you. In any event. What's in the cart bitches? A friend once told me (not the crease asshole) that you can learn everything you need to know about a woman by what's in her cart. Panic here. Said friend was a grocery store clerk. Who knew they were so judgy? I would so be doing the same thing. Fat lady buying skim milk and Ho-Ho's. I fear I couldn't contain myself. I can only imagine what he thought of me. I guess it would depend on the day. Sunday's my cart is filled with half fat and half new me. You are highly trained at this point in the game... you know the reason. Binge Sunday in preparation for "New Me Monday." Sing it with me sisters. Macaroni & cheese, that ho Lil Debbie, apples and hummus. Complete cluster fuck of madness. Much like my life at present. However, catch me on a random Tuesday and things appear much more melodic. 100% fat. Look. I eat all the fatty food Sunday night, puke and vow to turn things around on Monday. I am literally reborn every Monday morning. It's very biblical. I'm not quite sure if that means I'll be heading due North or South. Either way I need a vacation. Monday I eat all the "right" things. Right according to the same asshole who has me counting creases. Tuesday...deals off. I'm over the hummus, apples and ab work. I'm back in bed with Lil' Debbie and the bitch tastes like Heaven! Take that and put it in your cart!

After giving it some additional thought, there is one day of the year when my cart is in complete harmony. Everything flows to the tune of someone I don't know. The person I want to be. I'm sure she's witty, charming and quite thin. I wouldn't know bcs we've never in fact met. The closest I've come is channeling her via my New Years day shopping cart. Every January 1st I single handily perpetrate the biggest fatty fraud on record. I shop for someone I don't know. Apples, bananas, grilled chicken, fresh veggies, whole wheat bread...I literally reached over to grab some triple stuffed, super sized caramel brownies and walked off with someone elses cart. How is this possible? Guilt propels me to the checkout and sanity insists I put everything in the freezer as there's no way I'm ever eating any of it. Showing up and putting forth the effort is essential to any solid identity theft. Just walk past the gym the first week in January. The landscape gets a bit scary. Fat drippings and grease stained T-shirts running on treadmills. I use the word "running" quite loosely.  Fraud is rampant in the fatty community. We need some sort of fatty McGruff to snuff out the perps.

What have we learned from all of this? I can't be sure. If I had to guess I would say, "Always leave a light on. You never know who may be cumming for dinner. No one likes to eat in the dark. It's a fact. Get a canopy for your shopping cart if you can't get your shit together! It makes sense. If you go to the trouble of covering your fat with baggy shirts....give your fellow shoppers the same level of respect and hide the evidence from the scene of the crime." I'm just making suggestions here people. If you're a balls to wall fatty...let it all hang out. Get a box of Ho-Ho's with no price. Let the cashier call you out. While your at it... have her announce a request for potent vaginal creme to clear up the mold in your girl. Let the light in sisters. Let it in.