My family is trying to kill me. As a matter of fact, my lifelong doctor is in on it. For the life (Pardon the unintended pun.) of me, I can't figure out why. I don't know any family secrets. That's the folks' job. I don't have any money. I guess they want my room and are too shy to ask.
Anyway, they've decided to do it with not the lead pipe, the rope, or the revolver. Professor Plum isn't going to do it in the study. No, it's far worse that that. I can't even say the word. It's too horrible. I'll have to spell it out. The first letter is D. The second is I. The third is E. And the last is T. (Notice what the first three spell by themselves? Hmmmmmmm?)
This is what I call The Refusal Diet. It starts as Sis keeps faxing Mom all these recipes. You know, the ol' diet (Sorry. I used the evil word.) standards. Things like soybean steak covered with alfalfa bean sprout juice. If you look at it, that's half your points for the day. If you take a sniff, that's three-fourths. If you do the latter, you get sick to your stomach and can't eat anyway. Thus, it's The Refusal Diet, and you lose weight.
So far I've lost ten pounds in two weeks. (I really have.) I knew I was losing weight when a pair of pajamas started to fit. But now all my slacks are starting to slip on me. Well, that's just great! I'd best stay away from the malls, as I don't want to wind up like Dez Bryant.
My weight is like a yo-yo. It goes up and down. I've been told - - - no, ordered - - - to lose fifteen pounds. (And I've always liked Dr. Warner up to now. After forty-one years, what's happened to him?) I was told to lose 1-2 pounds a month, but I've found a place in town that serves calf fries, and people, I'm losing 30 so I can gorge!
In the meantime, if you see me, hide your ice cream or you might lose your hand. And if our dog disappears, it really wasn't me. Although Lilly is starting to look tasty . . . . .
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