Recovering meataholic seeks meat-lover to watch eat

Simply put: I want to watch you eat.

I am a recovering meataholic who up until 1 week ago ate meat everyday resulting in extremely high blood pressure, endometrosis and orders from my doctor to “stop eating red meat immediately unless you want go out like Elvis.” I’m looking for a fellow meat lover who will allow me to watch them eat while describing every bite in detail.

If you’re after a long-term relationship/friendship, please look elsewhere. I’m literally only interested in hearing what your meal tastes like. In between bites, if we must talk, I’m into baseball, Conservative bashing, reality TV and juggs. Bottom line: As long as large pieces of red meat are a mainstay in your diet, we can make it work.

An open letter to whoever is responsible for the camera adding 10 pounds.

Dear person responsible for the camera adding 10 pounds,

Congratulations. The camera is arguably one of the greatest inventions of all time. One that has allowed me to capture and share images of my most cherished moments–looking 10 pounds fatter than I really am. So, to those congratulations I add: You son of a bitch.

Why? Why would you do such a thing? Why would you choose to tarnish, nay ruin, something as beautiful as the lifelong keepsake that is a photograph? Do you get off on being the S in S&M and the humiliation it inflicts on others? Is this some evil ploy to make me stop posing for pictures so that one day you can eventually erase all memory of my existence? Or, as I secretly suspect, is it something so simple, yet conniving, as the fact that, in reality, you’re nothing more than a fatty yourself? One who is trying to get even with me (and all the other good looking, properly proportioned people) because we have something you don’t: Efficient metabolism.

A draft of Eliot Spitzer’s resignation speech.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I stand before you today a changed man. A new man. As you all know, during the past week a few somewhat, well, scandalous aspects of my life have been uncovered. Since then I’ve taken some time to reflect on my actions. To relive every graphic, sordid detail of the last few months, and my God, the things those ladies could do… but I’ll save those stories for my book.

Now I know you all expect me to apologize to my family, colleagues and country. That you believe it’s “the right thing” to do. That by showing remorse and admitting to all my sins I’ll be forgiven and all that other stuff. But that’s not what I’m here to do. I’m not going to lie and tell you it was all a mistake and that I regret my actions. In fact, I’ve never felt more alive. More free. I had the time of my life. That’s right. You heard me. I’m. Not. Sorry. Why should I be? Did Clinton apologize for getting a mouth hug from that chubby intern in the Oval Office? Actually he did. But he sure as hell didn’t mean it. And you still loved him afterwards. And what about Charlie Sheen? Do you think he feels bad about screwing half the hookers in Hollywood? I don’t think so. In fact, it’s a point of pride. By the way Charlie, thanks for the reference.

So, as I leave this office, know that I leave with my head held high. Know that while my wife and I are getting divorced, my wealth is protected thanks to an airtight pre-nump. And, most importantly, know that this isn’t the end of my storied political career–I am simply relocating to Las Vegas.

Thanks for your support.

Mosquitoes

-Oh my God! You have to try this guy’s blood. It’s intoxicating.
-Which one?
-The chubby guy near the barbeque.
-He’s not wearing Off is he? Not that it’s going to stop me, but that stuff makes my eyes water.
-No. But he does have one of those swatter thingies. And he’s quicker than he looks.
-That’s fine. I love a good challenge.

(Flies around for a while)

-Ok, I’ve got it. You go buzz around his ear and distract him, then I’ll fly in and sneak a quick taste?
-Brilliant.
-Alright, let’s do this.

(Shortly after)

-You know, I didn’t believe you, but that stuff was really good.
-I know. I’m still buzzed.
-And look at him, scratching away. That shit never gets old. You know who would love this? Jerry. We should go get him.