Health Whinge

Give me fat. GIVE ME FAT. PLEASE. BIG FUCKING SPOONFULS OF IT.

FEB and I had a lunchtime talk about the sort of foodfight I'd like to have to celebrate my next birthday. Big handfuls of fatty, greasy food, smeared all over the place.

Hey, look at this: bilious. That's meeeee! I'm bilious! The 'peevish' bit fits especially well. I cannot stand even the most minor stupidities today - but I swear I go looking for them - straight to the people, magazines, newspapers, and websites that are guaranteed to be stupidest. But I think that's excess tension I need an outlet for, and it's from missing the fat, more than from whatever has happened to my bilious organs, or my body from the surfeit of bile coursing through it.

Here is a description of what is happening (this is obviously because I'm swimming in my own estrogen and obesity; a walking Venus of Willendorf. You know, they fill teen magazines with pictures of the Venus of Willendorf so all the young chicks aspire to it, BUT THEY NEVER TELL YOU THE HEALTH RISKS) and what I have to eat. J*Fish is under the weather again - if I had to choose between his or Lady's afflictions and gallstones, I obviously choose gallstones, hands down.

But I really like fat.

I LIKE FRIED THINGS.

I WANT A BLUE . . . BLOODY . . . STEAK. NOW.