The Short Humour Site

Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

I Think I Can I Think I Can, Have A Fat Chance with Maya
by Lee Minh Sloca

After weighting my flabby options over, I could imagine her thin laughter, “Sorry, I don’t date short, fat, old Asian guy.” Well, there wasn’t much I could do about being short, old, Asian, or just being a guy. Much I could do about being fat; so I decided to do more than just sucking the rejection in.

If there was a book, pill, or liquid that promised to lose, burn, block, flush, eject, expel, or spank the fat, I’d, once, swallow, inject, burn, cut, or glue it on me. There was the High-protein Diet, the High-carb/ low fat Diet, the Waterfall Diet, the SlimFast Diet, the Hollywood Celebrity Grapefruit Diet, and the Jenny Craig Point System Diet.

These fads helped me to lose the weight, but generally when I quit, I’d gain all of it back plus a few more. Like a yo-yo, I felt like a success then a failure – success then failure; success, failure…

In the end, all I did was to make the $30 billion/a year diet industry richer than my fat sinking ass. My three last desperate dieting attempts were the “Appetite suppressing eyeglasses,” the “Magic weight-loss earrings,” and the “AbTronic.” None of it worked, plus my fashion IQ dipped 75 points.

I was in an abusive relationship, my fat and me; so my family begged me to stop the insanity. I did by getting a restraining order on my fat: No fat shall be within 20 feet of me! But the order only last 72 hours; so I gained it all back plus a few more. Next, I tried to ditch my fat, moving from city to city, from state to state, and from country to country. But no matter where I ran, my fat would always find me. Especially whenever I walked by a mirror, I would see it in the corner of my eyes, bouncing, jiggling, and mocking at me.

Desperate, I filed for a divorce from my fat. But the $30 billion diet industry gained the info and filed a counter lawsuit for custody of my body, claiming that I was being a fatist, i.e., discriminating against fat.

In court, when I stuck to the major health issues, I was winning but in the end I lost the case. Under crossed examination, I confessed my shame - whenever I was stressed out: my mantra was, “stressed spelled backward is desserts.” So my fat wanted “half,” but we worked out a compromise: my fat would get sole custody of my body during the winter months, Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving, and Easter. In turn, I would get sole custody of my body during the summer months, Spring Break, and any major religious fasting holidays. We would, however, have joint custody of my body during sex or masturbation.

No, no, I haven’t given up hope on my sweet, delectable Maya; I am onto a new scheme. It’s called “The Sexy Body Diet.” In short, it’s a program where you eat naked in front of the mirror, and I’m happy to say that I have lost 20 lbs., but sadly I’ve been kicked out of all major restaurants in town, including all McDonald’s drive-through windows.

Ah, sweet success then bitter failure - success then failure; success, failure…          plus a few more.