Diary of a 1000 LB Man

November 4, 2003

Hello, world. I am a victim of food. It's crippled me to a bedridden state, leaving me this journal as my only outlet for the pain I feel, which is mostly in my lower back. Did I ask to be a 1000-pound man? Did I ask for an entire birthday cake covered in pepperoni slices? Actually, I did on that second one. It was very good. Note to self: ask mom if there is a way to combine pastry and sausage. If not, tell her I have a disease and that she needs to find a way to do this.

November 11, 2003

Today I saw something that brought a tear to my eye, and later to my mouth. It tasted like Pepsi. It was hour 17 of TV time, and on the screen I saw a guy leaning against a brick wall. Leaning. Perhaps the greatest word in any language. I dream of the day where I can be upright and motionless instead of on my back and motionless. Can you believe that the Make a Wish Foundation rejected my idea of napping while riding a Segway because it was "physically impossible?" They also had a "problem" with the fact that I am 38. The obese are the Jews of the 21st century. Except we'd make a lot more candles.

November 13, 2003

Mom and two social workers rolled me onto the coffee table after leaning it against the wall because they got the bright idea that I wanted to try leaning. Yes, I told them that I wanted to try leaning, but that was my disease talking! Now half of the table is stuck in the wall and the other half is getting removed from my body by surgeons over the next three days. Idiots!

November 16, 2003

My body is now free of all non-ingested glass shards. They thought they found the second table leg, but it worked its way so far in there that now the doctors can't tell it apart from my ribs. So they're leaving it in there. Now I'm sort of like a cyborg! But there is no James Cameron here to film my epic struggle.

November 22, 2003

Today I wrote a letter to the Giant Eagle company about the quality of their trash bags:

Dear Giant Eagle,

As a constant user of your brand of trash bags, I am appalled by your treatment of my demographic. You see, some people out there (as hard as this may be to believe) do not wear pants because these people are hyperobese. Their lifestyle and girth do not accommodate fabric in that area. I am afflicted with this condition and have been for the past 17 years. I use your trash bags to tie around the end of my legs. Or should I say, I used to! My legs are effectively dead, and your bags keep away airborne bacteria and pests who would make a meal of my decaying thighs. However, thanks to the shoddy seams and ineffective drawstrings of your trash bags, I have lost two toes in the month of November alone! Some people aren't lucky enough to have blood pump to all of their body parts. I hope you will remember this in the future.

Yours,
James Slunch

P.S. Please bring back your festive red and green-colored bags. Christmas is right around the corner!

I had better get results.

November 30, 2003

My nutritionist was telling me I need to eat at least one serving of vegetables per day. Nazi. I told him I'd eat anything he wanted me to as long as it was between two waffles. Game, set, match, right? Wrong. Later he brings back some whole grain waffles. What is with this guy? I upped the ante by telling him the waffles had to be the chocolate chip ones with the syrup inside (because sometimes I like to have two kinds of syrup with my waffles). I bet myself eight 2-liter bottles of Pepsi he quits in a week.

December 7, 2003

Pepsi time! I normally only have seven bottles during the day, but this is a little treat ;)

December 12, 2003

Oh shit. I just realized my catheter has been out for three days. This can only mean there is a reservoir of urine pooling somewhere on the surface of my body. Ugh, the guy from the hospice is going to be such a dick about this like he was the last time this happened. He thinks he's all high and mighty because he got to leave his house during the 90s. Heh, maybe I'll forget about it until next month. After all, that clod Jeff took a vow to help the sick. I answer to no one.

I hope someone comes to turn me soon.

December 13, 2003

Tony's Pizza just lost a customer. There must be a new guy there, because whoever came to my house did not understand my "bucket on a rope" policy. It's simple. You throw a rock at my window; I reach over, open it, and lower down a bucket with money in it. You put the food in the bucket and get the hell out of my sight (if I could see you). But no, this jackass rings the doorbell, which makes my mom answer the door, and that is exactly what my bucket method is meant to bypass! I just got bitched at for being a "Greedy Gus who orders a sheet pizza after eating six steaks." Mom brought me a tub of Rocky Road later, though, so I'll forgive her… this time.

December 17, 2003

That turd from the Department of Health and Human Services came back, and this time he brought his little crane. Oh Doug, haven't you realized that no crane can hold me? And there's no way my mom would let you knock down that bedroom wall for a fourth time. Advantage: me.

December 25, 2003

Christmas is here, but I'll never get what I really want. Mom says there is no way to cook that much bacon. At least, not with the deep fryer she has now.

December 30, 2003

Those jerks from The Learning Channel are back again to do yet another documentary on me. Yawn. Oh, and aren't documentarians supposed to not interfere with the lives of their subjects? It seems to me that yelling "You're killing him!" to someone's mother while she feeds her son mashed potatoes just might violate this principle. I was also a little annoyed by all the gagging that one cameraman did. Yeah, that's a colostomy bag. I don't see you coming over here to empty it. Sheesh.

January 5, 2004

I'm a little worried. While reaching for my giant Pixy Stix, I felt a bedsore that was much larger and creamier than my normal ones. Did I roll onto some boxes of Hostess Cupcakes and not realize it? I sure hope so. It itches like hell.

January 6, 2004

Sores hurt so I itch them. They make cake and cream. Mom make ugly face so I itch her too.

January 7, 2004

Itchy. Tasty.