I spent most of Friday just yelling at my stomach. A most likely useless exercise, considering I basically had Pocky, Jack in the Box and beer for dinner. But it made me feel better. Inexplicably, I woke up Saturday having somehow lost 2lbs. I don’t understand this at all. Did I prove my theory of muscle gain correct, or is my stomach just reacting to abuse? Oh man, that totally changes the dynamic of our relationship.

This is bumming me out; my belly is an asshole.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t much better, food wise. I did manage to spend a lot of time practicing my Bane voice, which is kind of cool. I also ended up getting Facebooked by some homey in England or whatever who called me an “inspiration.” Dude apparently lost 60lbs since January, and he’s calling me the inspiration? I’m gonna man-tear up about that one right there. Good on you, Limey-bro.

Have you ever smelled that Jack Daniels honey liqueur whiskey? I accidentally bought a bottle of it a while ago, and can’t seem to pawn it off on anybody for the life of me. Someone brought a bottle of it out at a party recently and it finally hit me. That shit smells exactly like Honey Nut Cheerios and stepfathers.