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Ah, another season of giant fatty-fat-fat-fats. The sound of kettle drums and tubas once again fills the air. Chilly evenings spent snuggled on the sofa wearing a 2X sweatshirt, half-asleep, exhausted from digesting carbohydrates, my hand shoved down the front of my pants, cupping my balls, not for a sexual thrill but just because it is comforting (men will understand this).

As always, I don't have time to read everything here. I also will find it difficult to slog through two hours of this show every single week. There's only so much pathos I can take. It becomes more and more difficult to feel sorry for these monstrous blobs. I guess I feel a little bit badly for the woman who lost her entire family. That sucks. But the rest of them?

"Cry. Go ahead and cry your guts out. You won't pee so much at night."

Dan? AGAIN? Oh, come on! What the fuck is with these reality show producers that they constantly have to bring back OLD MOTHERFUCKING NEWS?

Bloated orange pumpkin. Go the fuck away. YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, LARD-ASS.

All these contestants cooing and fawning over him, like he's some sort of superhero: Captain Adipose.

What he is is a FAILURE. Let's hope that just in time for Halloween we get to cut him, gut him and roast the seeds inside. All that gloppy, sticky stuff we'll just wrap in newspaper and throw in the trash.





I'm getting bored with the captions beneath each contestant, too. I don't care if someone is a "Youth Pastor" or whatever the fuck they do. They aren't doing MUCH in whatever job they hold, I'll tell you that. Fuck, that bitch couldn't even fit in her classroom seat. If I were her professor I'd tell her to stand in the back of the lecture hall and JOG IN PLACE.

No, what I want to see is a caption telling me what they are dreaming about EATING. For example:

Julio: Intravenous Bacon Fat

Dan: Cupcake Puree Enema

Amanda: Entire Supermarket

Like that. Wouldn't that be more fun?




Oh, hey. By the way... you DO have Type II Diabetes.

Well, there's a fucking shocker for ya.

And did you know that your heart is 75% CheezWhiz? It's true! If you died right now we could crack open your ribcage, get some crackers and have a pretty good party.





So my chubby hubby calls me up last night and says he just spent 45 minutes on his elliptical machine and hated every second of it and now he's "sweating like a pig."

Sounds hot to me.

Then he says that he's going to watch The Biggest Loser and eat FIVE pieces of leftover chocolate cake. You go, big guy! What a great attitude!

In his defense -- not that he needs any defense in my book -- those are TINY pieces of cake. Cafeteria-sized cake. You know what I mean. Two bites each.

I tell him that I see some cupcakes on a tray and I'm pretty sure there's a jelly doughnut there, too. Now he's a little jealous. Jelly doughnuts are his most favorite thing.

But he likes the ones with granulated sugar on top. I can't say I blame him. I explain that MY doughnut has frosting but he says he is OK with that, too. Now I feel bad. I want to share my jelly doughnut with him but it's too late to head over to his place -- he lives kind of far from me.

I take a photo of my dessert tray and email it to him. I also wanted to share it with YOU good people.







OK, OK.

I didn't eat all of that. I COULD, though. Oh, you bet I could.

Thing is, it looks better than it was.

The cupcakes were kind of dry. The chocolate iced ones were better than the white icing. The doughnut... well... I've had better. I put the second doughnut in the freezer. A small gesture against gluttony.

But tonight is Pizza Night.