Bitches!

I really don't know why I created this shit. A sadistic desire to spread my filthy, generally obnoxious blogs across the universe. Maybe with a title like that I should be on hoodstarz, but I'm pretty sure that's just a bad idea in general. There's no end to the racist, unwelcome shitstorms I could rile up over there.

Honestly, I can't imagine this place leading anyone to a healthy lifestyle though.

That burger up there is awful tempting, though. They're teasing some fatties with that shit, for sure. Just look at it. It's a fucking burger. Probably got some great grill to it, big patty, lettuce and tomato and just a slight slap of cajun spiced mayo...you want it, don'tcha chubby? It's so delicious. You can't resist. You try and you try and you try and you try. God it's so hard though. Food is so delicious. There's so much of it. There's great burgers. There's also bad burgers, which are so bad, but so good at the same time. You eat four of them, and then you go home and you fucking cry and masturbate alone in the dark, rocking back and forth and weeping and fapping and wishing you didn't want more of those disgusting, wretched hamburgers. But you do. It's a cycle, and tomorrow you're back again, and you're fat again. You wake up and you're fat and you fall asleep and you're still fat, you self-pleasuring burger-munching machine! You sicken me, you whale! You're not just a waste of space, you're an excessive waste of space!

But fear not, Big Poppa Vaccerelli has come to lay down the sick widdit so you can stop being thick widdit.

I work on a replacement system for my health regiment when I'm kicking the pounds (I'm working the system here, FEATURE ME MOTHERFUCKERS), so here goes. For an example, we'll simply use generalized fast food, since that's what that fuckin' burger up there is making me think of.

Instead of a french fry, smoke a cigarette. For every one french fry, smoke up a cigarette. Correspondingly, instead of a chicken nugget/cut/strip/whatever, light up a joint and get lit. If you get the munchies, go back to cigarettes some more and smoke that urge away. You ain't needing food when you got sweet, sweet nicotine rush.

Instead of a burger, do a line of coke. Believe me, the pounds will just melt away, and you'll feel like a new man! You'll have more energy than ever before and you'll never even notice food for a long time. Why, that white pony ride will keep you so busy you'll be busting mad moves in the club to some DNVO shit or something. And while the fly honey bitches may think you look like a lava lamp having a seizure, at least they don't think it's another earthquake and shit. Just keep at those white lines! Grandmaster Flash was wrong!

Instead of one of those combo specials, punch yourself in the side of the head, and then do some meth, followed immediately by two tabs of acid and then a needle full of heroin. Frankly, after that, not only will you not care about food, you'll be too busy chasing the Cloud God Rabbit of Spank Kingpin Pimp Dragon down the Big Rock Candy Mountains to care what the Invisible Policeman is saying. Sure, he's not actually invisible, and you're being raped in the drunk tank by some DT'ing fat-fetishist, but you're on so many drugs you don't care, and you're not eating! And that's what's important. Less eating, less pounds. QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRATUM, TUBBY.

Instead of a milkshake, get yourself a full bottle of extremely potent Russian import vodka and chug that shit. I mean, take that bottle to town. Empty it like it's a missile silo and your liver is a Cold War crisis. This works to your advantage; you'll loose everything in your stomach, and you'll feel so much like shit the next couple of days even the mention of food will make you toss your cookies. But you shouldn't be trying to eat cookies anyway, motherfucker! That's what you get.

If you follow these simple steps, you might lose some fucking weight, you horrible, misbegotten unattractive fucking ambulatory heathen filthy fat fucking fatty fucker.

Anyway, while you're getting on your kickin' new health regime (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ALREADY), I gotta get out of here, I'll hella fiending for a bacon cheeseburger stack and I know just the joint.

No, you can't come.