The timer is ticking down to PAX, and I’m still weighing 265. I’m surprised this is even possible. People who aren’t me keep commenting that I am losing weight, and while I am not entirely sure I see it, who am I to argue with a compliment. It would make sense, the amount of calories that go into my body are surely less than the amount being spent to keep this grease machine running, and I snarf protein like some sort of addict. Guy who never wrote the 8th season of The Wire, get at me.

Our inaugural dodgeball season finished up this week, and even though the league might hate me for spending too much time yelling at the ref, who totally might be a jerk, I’m pretty excited to do it again. My team is awesome, and it’s a lot of sweat and drinking; two things I’m becoming more and more convinced should not really be combined. Don’t drink and exercise. That sounds like a really oblique abstinence billboard. Maybe “Don’t drink and play with balls” would be better. That’s even worse. 

Fuck it. Drink. Constantly.

Boxing was cancelled this week. Surprisingly heartbreaking news. It was pointed out to me that I’ve been going to our little fight club for two years now. This is blowing my mind, I can’t think of anything else I’ve done for two years straight. Not since I was 18 really, and even then the “thing” was playing Everquest for 5 years. The fact that it’s actually exercise, and not a weekly Olive Garden , I think speaks volumes about how much I’ve managed to change as a person.

So, here’s a menu item from Ballard’s awesomely bad for you Zadya Buddies that I keep trying to get Flesh Wizard to order, because I’m pretty sure a "starch coma" is real, and I want to witness it: Minnesota Smashup. Mashed Potatoes, covered with Minnesota wild rice, covered with gravy, and topped with our deep fried cheese curds.