admin
22 December 2023
Let's face it: food is the bomb shit. If it weren't, would the entire world eat it? That's right. My point is good. And so is food.
What's better than food? Eating it, that's what. And anyone who knows me, knows I like nothing more than stuffing my freckled face fatter than a 12-year-old girl's brassiere. Hot! Eating is my drug. Nothing makes me feel better. And once the initial high fades, nothing makes me feel worse. But it's totally worth it. I can still fit in my jeans. I can still see my man-peninsula. And you can, too!
Eat like me, I mean. Not see my man-peninsula. I mean, you could, if you really wan-- never mind.
So how do I do it? Self-discipline, my fat, feathered friends. In three easy steps:
1. Start by knowing your limit. Then ignore it. Limits are for pussies. Once you've established that you live in a world of consumption without boundaries, make yourself a sandwich or something.
2. Next, you need to learn the proper breathing techniques. Eating is a sport. In any sport, physical performance can be maximized with proper breath control. In eating, it is crucial that you do NOT take deep breaths. Deep breaths will only fill those lungs with oxygen. Why waste valuable food storage space on oxygen? Your lungs have the flexibility to potentially shelter an entire Christmas ham. No shit.
3. The final, and most important trick to eating like Marlon Brando in a slaughterhouse is chewing. Doctors and dieticians will tell you that each bite of food must be chewed 32 times. That's a bunch of bullshit. Chewing just gives your stomach more time to realize how ungodly an amount you let pass through that mouth of yours. Avoid chewing by taking smaller, instantly swallowable bites. Works every time.
Do all this, and you'll be the lean, mean eating machine I've come to be. No tricks, no pills, no smelly, blistered fingers. Just you, your tummy, and an iron, fighting will. You have less than three weeks until the holidays. Get eating.
What's better than food? Eating it, that's what. And anyone who knows me, knows I like nothing more than stuffing my freckled face fatter than a 12-year-old girl's brassiere. Hot! Eating is my drug. Nothing makes me feel better. And once the initial high fades, nothing makes me feel worse. But it's totally worth it. I can still fit in my jeans. I can still see my man-peninsula. And you can, too!
Eat like me, I mean. Not see my man-peninsula. I mean, you could, if you really wan-- never mind.
So how do I do it? Self-discipline, my fat, feathered friends. In three easy steps:
1. Start by knowing your limit. Then ignore it. Limits are for pussies. Once you've established that you live in a world of consumption without boundaries, make yourself a sandwich or something.
2. Next, you need to learn the proper breathing techniques. Eating is a sport. In any sport, physical performance can be maximized with proper breath control. In eating, it is crucial that you do NOT take deep breaths. Deep breaths will only fill those lungs with oxygen. Why waste valuable food storage space on oxygen? Your lungs have the flexibility to potentially shelter an entire Christmas ham. No shit.
3. The final, and most important trick to eating like Marlon Brando in a slaughterhouse is chewing. Doctors and dieticians will tell you that each bite of food must be chewed 32 times. That's a bunch of bullshit. Chewing just gives your stomach more time to realize how ungodly an amount you let pass through that mouth of yours. Avoid chewing by taking smaller, instantly swallowable bites. Works every time.
Do all this, and you'll be the lean, mean eating machine I've come to be. No tricks, no pills, no smelly, blistered fingers. Just you, your tummy, and an iron, fighting will. You have less than three weeks until the holidays. Get eating.
artid
998
Old Image
5_4_eating.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 04 (dec 2002)
section
stories