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A Man of Few Words - by Swan Morrison

The Sicilian Diet

Dear Aunt Maude,

I am still working hard to combat my obesity, although I am still some four hundred pounds above my ideal weight.

My efforts to bring to justice those responsible for my weight continue. I have successfully sued four international burger chains, two major cola manufactures and eighty-nine cake shops. As my barrister has pointed out many times in court, no reputable publican would serve a drink to an alcoholic who was obviously drunk, so why should the owner of a patisserie sell cakes to me when I am too large to enter the shop doorway. The fact that I often threatened to kill hostages is, in my mind, no defence.

Successful litigation means that I never have to work again and can have all the food I want delivered. This has obviously caused my weight to rise further. I blame my barrister, and am suing him for negligence in winning so many cases.

I have also tackled my weight directly. I have tried three hundred diet plans, each as useless as the last. I had high hopes for the ‘Techno-diet’. This required a computerised surgical implant in each leg. Such implants automatically register weight and, if it is not within programmed limits, cause pain in proportion to the excess weight - pain that can only be controlled by morphine. The implants are also impossible to remove without amputation of the limbs.

The fact that I am now addicted to morphine and a double amputee is another matter being addressed through the courts. I admit, however, that there was an encouraging weight loss as a result of the amputations, although, as usual, I have put it all back on again!

I am now trying the ‘Sicilian Diet’. I have paid a million pounds to a company based in southern Italy - a special offer I couldn’t refuse. I have given them a list of my dearest and closest relatives and, if I do not reach my weight targets, they murder each in increasingly gruesome ways. As one of my dearest and closest relatives, I hope you don’t mind that I included you on the list along with Aunt Ruby, Uncle Jack and Cousin Celia.

This brings me to the first purpose of this letter. I am very sorry to have to tell you of the untimely and, indeed, horrible deaths of Aunt Ruby, Uncle Jack and Cousin Celia.

I had been determined I would control my weight before your name reached the top of the list, and I want you to know that I had been succeeding. Then that damned irresponsible, local supermarket began a ‘two for the price of one’ offer on blocks of lard. There’s something about the flavour and texture of lard which is just irresistible, isn’t there?

Anyway, I will see you soon, but we probably won’t have much of a chance to natter as Luigi, my ‘personal body mass consultant’, will be disembowelling you in front of me.