Making the most of our eating disorder

This recipe is for those of you who are desperate to drop a few ounces from the rear. According to one of our sweet fans, it’s virtually guaranteed to get you going to the “lav” every day. If you’re American and you don’t know what a “lav” is, I’m pretty certain it’s the British equivalent of toilet, powder room or shitter, depending on your personal preference.

The Recipe:

• 15 grams (1/2 ounce) wheat bran - not bran cereal with added anything –  just plain bran, the one that’s under 200 calories/100g and is usually hidden by the really weird health food items
• 100g  (3 ounces)  any low fat yoghurt that’s under 90c for that amount - cherry flavour is best, or vanilla
• one good-sized scoop of lo-cal drinking choccie, or a sachet of one that’s under 40c

Boil some water and soak the bran for at least 15 minutes. Stir it into the yoghurt and chocolate, and let it all mix up really nicely. Wash it down with a big glass of plain green tea (no milk, honey or – LARD). It’s 160 calories to be sure, but you’re golden to be doing a dump sometime in the next 24 hours as long as you’re drinking plenty of water!

“‘Life,’ said Emerson, ‘consists in what a man is thinking all day.’ If that be so, then my life is nothing but a big intestine. I not only think about food all day, but I dream about it all night.”

– Henry Miller in Tropic of Cancer

Emaciated Lady has a knack for accurately judging describing people. Just the other day she likened one of our former coworkers to an upside down tv. It was one of the most apt descriptions ever, and one that I think also applies to me. Please see the picture below. Emaciated Lady took it while I was visiting her last week.

Emaciated Lady adopted a great dane “puppy” just days before my visit. Puppy my ass. This is the monstrosity that Skinny Man and I were greeted with upon entering her home:

A normal person might be intimidated by the size of this creature. But I’m less intimidated than I am hungry. To me, he looks like a giant Oreo blizzard. So if anyone should be afraid, it’s him.

I am disgustingly fat and ugly.  My jeans don’t fit. My fingers are dirty from picking the chocolate off of peanut m&m’s, and I care so little about life that I would rather dirty my keyboard with sticky candy gunk than wash my hands. This is how I feel today.

I return from not eating lunch to find a tiny white box wrapped in a pink ribbon sitting innocently on my desk.

Turns out the fucking box wasn’t so innocent. A pregnant (a.k.a. fat and jealous) coworker decided this was a proper way to send a thank you note for attending her baby shower.

I swear I spot a four-pack somewhere between those ribs.

Rather than doing something productive with my weekend, I went through hundreds of pages of cookbooks and nearly three years’ worth of Vegetarian Times magazines to create a repertoire of Skinny Man’s favorite recipes (read: food I cook and he eats). I ended up with four pages of recipes, which I enshrined in plastic paper protectors. Yes, this is how much I hate myself.