If a talking pile of shit tried to convince me it was chocolate, I’d give it a fair listen. I love chocolate that much!
I’m a gluttonous fuck. Let’s just get that out in the open right away. My name should probably be changed from Jeff to Might as well eat the whole thing at this point you piece of crap! I have to do a ridiculous amount of exercise each day to maintain what I look like now, which I’ll tell you, is nothing special. Any normal man that exercised the way I do would look like an Abercrombie model. Meanwhile, here I am just proud to barely squeeze into size 30 jeans and a small size Mars Volta shirt I got in college.
There are a million things I could be doing to be productive. I’m in grad school studying advertising. I could be practicing Photoshop, Illustrator, or After Effects. I could be reading books about players in the industry, or books on how to improve my own craft and ideas. I have a paid membership on Lynda.com where I should be watching tutorials on such programs. I could be writing jokes or comedy sketches, or practicing my drawing. I could be reading one of the 29 books on my “to read” shelf. But no, I’m binge-watching Orange is the New Black while I devour pints of ice cream, dripping the occasional precious morsel on my Batman one-piece pajamas with a built in cape and cowl.
I fucking hate Orange is the New Black, but that hasn’t stopped me from watching each and every episode. What is wrong with me? I would rather subject myself to something I don’t even like rather than accomplish something that I desperately need to accomplish. I suppose as long as cookies, ice cream, or any other kind of munchies is involved, all bets are off. I shutter to think about the kind of obese monster I would turn into if I wasn’t good about exercising. Jabba the Hutt would look at me and then quickly look away and thank whatever holy deity there is on Tattooine that at least he wasn’t me.
Surely I can’t be the only one who feels disgusted with himself at 2am after plowing through $15 worth of fudge after watching Cheers reruns for hours in his underwear. Surely I’m not the only one who has thought about eating an entire pizza pie with the reasoning being “Well I did it just the other night, and I wasn’t even that high.” Surely I’m not the only one who, after eating every possible piece of food in the apartment, resolves to simply licking an entire jar of Skippy, and the biggest regret felt was when some peanut butter got smudged on my pair of Ren & Stimpy glow-in-the-dark boxer shorts saved from the third grade. Sure I’m not the only one that sorts M&M’s by color before proceeding to devour them, but I might be the only disgusting excuse for a human being that licks the inside of the bag for one last morsel of sweetness representing the sweetness that I let escape from my life when I left my girlfriend to pursue a career in comedy in which I would eventually fail.
So if you are even half as pathetic as me, you can fill the void in your life with raw cookie dough while you burn through the one and only season of Firefly on Netflix. Go ahead and do it, after all, your life probably doesn’t have any meaning or purpose either. Till next time campers, this is Jeff, signing off. – Jeff Tepper
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