"I can hear you getting fatter." -- David Spade

I'm the fattest I've ever been in my adult-life and periolously close plummeting to the surreal depths of my early teen years would I was the size of Bruce-Bruce. This is no surprise to any of you that have seen me recently, inevitably downing some pint of specialty beer or gnawing on something with cheese bread. I looked at my Homer Simpson midsection this afternoon and man-tits and my "he's gaining too much grwn-man weight" face and said enough is enough.

Therein lies the problem. I've been saying enough is enough for about a year now and, for the first time as an adult, have been shamefully unsuccessful at halting the weight-gain, much less beginning some lasting weight loss. I just had to get suits let out the other day. But guess what? they still don't fit. I found myself uncomfortable on the plane and it's becoming a chore to tie my shoes. The other day, laboring around Delaware Park in a toutoise-jog, a fast-walker passed me. He was in his 50s, tanned and wearing George Michael During His Wham Days shorts. He yelled "On your left", then zoomed by me in slim-n-trim contempt. When I was shopping for a track jacket at Dr. Jay's a couple months ago, the Mexican pointed upstairs the second I stepped in the joint, as in "upstairs big man. No XXXL down here."

All of these slights, embarrassments and inconveniences and I still haven't focused my diet or excersize regimen to ensure I start droppin some pounds. Like my man Mad Dog said, "ENOUGH'S ENOUGH!!!! ... ENOUGH'S ENOUGH" I refuse to hit 30 and be on some "well, this is just the way it is" steez.

I guess that's it...