Wilhelmina wailed then wept. “I miss my Chuck,” she sighed
Ifs & thens had pierced his wherewithal like assegai
Nether Regionals he’d entered, triumphed, won, and then
Nightfall, downfall, fall from grace beyond all human ken
Ah, how swift and with a whisker passeth foofara
Human humid hayride hell & then a humbug’d bah
time was when my belly did not throw
a shadow
and wasn’t out warping the woof of my pants.
but sure as my hero is sweet rā
chel maddow
the shelf of my undergut looks me askance.
the trouble is that food is just meant to
be eaten
and I have forsaken such vices as gambling
so i have what’s fit for a glutton
to sweeten
my near-term desirings as through life
I’m shambling.
**
Afterword: I’ve racked up more than two years of compulsive-gambling sobriety, and I don’t smoke and rarely drink and don’t use any recreational drugs, but lately my eating habits have gotten excessive, which for a diabetic is at its very least mildly self-destructive. At the same time, though, it is hugely enjoyable, so there’s a quality-of-life struggle going on, complete with the creeping guilt that compels me to mutter “You Belly-Worshipper, you” as I waddle away from an all-you-can-eat buffet. So this blog post is my way of naming the beast that I hope to defeat.
