Sometimes, when I’m talking to people (the real ones, and not just when I do those voices into the mirror. Like Mr. Pirate. He’s the coolest!) ideas begin to form, and ideas for books that should have been written come out of the woodwork.
I was thinking I should come up with a plan where I pretend to be really thin and trick people into eating laxatives and chicken breasts and charge them $79.95 for advice about how they can look like Russian models–and then I’m like, “Crap! Kimkins already thought of that!”
So now I’m back to thinking we’re going to have to write a book.
And this book should be called Chicken Soup for the Butt.
Sure, those Chicken Soup books are supposed to be all sweet and nice and “awww!” I mean, we’re talking pink dog nuggets and butterfly farts. Nice, but too almost icky. I’m talking about a book that speaks to me. Well, not a butt book that speaks to me. Not literally. The librarian would be shooting me dirty looks.
Chicken Soup for the Butt is a collection of witticisms from essayists regarding weight loss and humor along with it. And, yes you need witty cracks in a ‘butt’ book. It should be cheeky.
No, we’re not really going to publish this book. Or write it. I mean, come on. Aside from the actual chicken soup people having a coronary over someone turning their industry into a bawdy moment of body humor, all of the butt puns we thought we’d heard for the last time as 5th graders would be relived. Again. And that would stink.
Still, if it is poignant, you could include a companion journal called “Dear Diary-a” (sound it out. You’ll get it. No, not diarrhea. The pun! Darn it. Now I ruined the moment of discovery.)
Those wacky neighbors!
As an aside, I was reading the police blotter this morning for my town in Colorado. Some guy locally thought he was a jelly bean. I twist your kneecaps not.
And I quote (from Kevin Villegas):
“At 12:16 a.m. Feb. 27, two officers were dispatched to 1933 Warren Ave. in reference to a disturbance. It was reported that two males were outside the apartment building yelling at each other. Upon arrival, the officers heard yelling from inside. One officer walked to the window, looked through the blinds and saw one 23-year-old male frantically pacing and screaming about how he wanted to fight and how much he hated his dad. It appeared that the screaming male wanted to fight the other 23-year-old male sitting in front of him. When the officers entered, they noticed a strong odor of marijuana. On couch in plain view was a large plastic storage bag half full with marijuana and cash. There were four pipes on the table and two stacks of medium planter buckets against the wall. The man who was screaming had a large bump on his head. When the officer asked what had happened, the man said he’d come home after drinking some beers. According to the officer, the man was fidgeting, couldn’t sit still and told him he had a cocaine and methamphetamine addiction. The man motioned toward the bag and said, “Don’t worry about that. I got a medical license for that. I grow it.” When the officer asked to see his medical marijuana license, the man said, “I am the jelly bean of life and I don’t disrespect the guardians.” When the officer asked the man for his license again, he led the officers into his bedroom and sat next to a large, silver safe and started talking gibberish. Both 23-year-old Longmont men were arrested on suspicion of possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of marijuana, possession of a schedule II controlled substance, distribution of a schedule II controlled substance and the manufacturing, dispensing and selling of marijuana.”
Can you believe that?! I couldn’t believe it either.
I think blinds coupled with crime is tacky. Plantation shutters are the new black in meth-home interiors.
No losses for this week
I’m still at 42 pounds lost overall. I’ll work harder this week.
(That was the ‘Body Fat’ portion of the program. I’m all about expediency. And I’m still thinking about the Jelly Bean Man in the police blotter.)