The other day, I was hanging out in a vacant, foreclosed house, smashing holes in the fucking drywall with my goddamn forehead, when I happened to catch a look at my reflection in a nearby mirror. That’s when I realized I’d gotten fat as shit.
I don’t know how the fuck I became such a porker. I consume only high-octane extreme-sports food, such as Taco-Bell’s Double-Stuf Torpedito combo meal, King-Size Super-Spicy Slim-Jims, and Nacho-In-The–Face Cheezy Doritos. But, despite my carefully-calibrated athlete’s diet, my form is significantly softer and less-defined than one might expect, based on my intense, manly lifestyle.
I blame high-calorie sugar soda. I chug a two-liter bottle of that shit to hydrate after I do my ten minute version of P90X on fast-forward, and then I usually pick up a 64-ounce Godzilla Gulp when I make my daily stop at the Exxon station to put another 30 gallons of super-premium in my Expedition. Clearly, I need to stop doing that.
I’ll be damned, though, if I am going to drink some pussy-ass diet soda with dainty little bubbles and curlicue cursive lettering on the can. And I am sure as shit not going to drink water. Have you seen water? Water is clear, like the vodka drinks on “Sex And The City,” which I have never watched. I don’t trust a clear drink. A man’s beverage should be the same murky brown color as a mouthful of tobacco-spit. If you drink water, you’d better stock up on tampons, because pretty soon, you’re gonna start bleeding out of your vagina.
I thought about drinking Gatorade, but it doesn’t seem like that will help much. It turns out that Gatorade has almost as many calories as soda. Plus, it tastes like fruit, which seems pretty gay to me. That is not an appropriate beverage for a man. A proper drink should put hair on a man’s scrotum, hair that he will leave ungroomed and unwashed, in a long, matted tangle, like God’s own beard.
Thank Christ for the rocket scientists at Dr. Pepper, who have developed a new man-soda called Dr. Pepper 10. An extensive marketing campaign has persuaded me that this awesome low-calorie beverage is emphatically not for women. This stuff comes in a can that’s the color of a gun, and it tastes like it feels to get punched in the face by an iceberg.
At long last, I will be able to enjoy a beverage that doesn’t shatter my fragile perception of my own masculinity, and I will also be able to enjoy a view of my penis that is not fully occluded by the protrusion of my belly. Fuckin’ A.