I'm pregnant with calories.

I just ate myself retarded. No literally, I'm retarded right now. My right hand keeps bashing my chest and I'm currently trying to swallow my tongue. Eehhgh, eeeghpffsh. I'm just staring at all these discarded wrappings and crumbs in front of me, thinking about how unhungry I was before I started eating, and how fucking unhungry I am right now. Now i'm currently typing with one hand, because I'm stuffing an oreo down my pathetic piehole.

I used to always to make fun of fish because I couldn't imagine any creature on this planet being so dumb as to have the ability to literally eat itself to death. Now I've learned to not be so judgemental. I feel dead. I've just gluttonized my soul. I feel like I've just puked inside myself. It's times like these where certain people's index fingers have a certain tickle fight with their tonsils. While the prospects are tempting, if only to alleviate this pressure in my gut, I will have none of that. I'm going to pull through this. My intestines will act accordingly. I'm shitting this one out.

Why do we eat? Let me rephrase that, why do we eat so superfluously? Let me answer that. Boredom. But what is it about eating that is so special? I asked myself that very same question once, and of course I figured it was the taste. So I came up with a genius plan. I would stuff my face with the most fattening food I could find, but when it came time to swallowing, I'd spit it all out. That way, I'd get to have my proverbial cake and eat it too. Unless we're speaking literally of course, then it'd all be regurgitated into a hefty trash bag. So I started off on a Mrs. Field's choclate chip cookie. I took one bite out of that bad boy and it was so good I almost started touching myself. Then it came time to swallow, so I spat. I felt like I just spat out part of my soul into the trashcan. Totally UNsatisfying. Apparently, eating is nothing without swallowing. It's like having penis sex (penis sex, what the hell?) without the orgasm. Yeah, for the moment it may be fun, but looking back, aren't you just a tad bit ...angry? And when you get home, aren't you gonna grab a magazine and beat off first things first?

So what's the count? Have I posted a single blog without a reference to masturbation? And you thought you were safe cuz i was talking about food...

Now I'm actually angry at food. I'm staring at all these wrappers and crumbs with eyes of hatred. Because there's nothing quite like passing blame onto inanimate objects. It's like waking up with a hangover and getting mad at all the empty bottles as they innocently lie strewn across your apartment floor. Fuck you wrappers. Fuck you crumbs. Fuck you food. Fuck you all to hell. This middle finger is for you. Cya tomorrow for breakfast.