by Bobby Brown

Created on: August 05, 2008   Last Updated: August 02, 2009

I was sitting at home one evening binging on a tub of Cherry Garcia (it's not my favorite Ben and Jerry's flavor; the store didn't have any Wavy Gravy) basking in the electronic glow of the final installment of the "Biggest Loser". It was then that I had an epiphany: I'm watching this show about morbidly obese people trying to lose weight and I'm here in my La-z-boy recliner reminiscing about the good old days with my friends Ben and Jerry! If I don't do something soon I'm going to need a mobile GPS if I ever plan on finding my feet again! But soon will have to wait because they're about to do another weigh in...

"Well, you did put the "pro" in procrastination after all didn't you?" My conscience snided. (He can be awfully critical when he wants to be!)
"Ouch, clipping, fifteen yard penalty!" I complained.
"Fifteen yards did you say? Is that the distance from your chair to the kitchen or your waist size?"
"Cut me some slack will you? I quite smoking and drinking-I even tried L. A. Weight Loss for Pete's sake!" I could feel tension building in my head.

"Yes, you did quit smoking and drinking", he spoke dryly. "But by the way you "tried" L.A. Weight Loss the "L.A." should stand for "Louie Anderson"! Look, I'm tired and now, thanks too you, I have a wicked migraine. I'm going to call it a night. Say good night to Ben and Jerry for me, will you?"

And with that, my inner monologue retired leaving me alone with Ben, Jerry and a not-so-comfortable La-z-Boy recliner.


It's amazing how cold water can feel at six o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. I was jolted awake-a taser shot to the chest-by the all too familiar rhythmic pounding of water dripping onto my chest. It would appear that fate, my conscience and the leaky pipe in the ceiling had all conspired against me.

"What in the world-"
"Wake up, sunshine. It's two miles on the treadmill for you", my conscious prodded.
"You've gotta be kidding me!" I twisted and wriggled in my recliner in a vain effort to avoid the icy drips and the springs in the La-z-Boy announced their discontentment.
"Do I sound like I'm kidding, Maxwell?" (I knew he meant business when he used my middle name, Maxwell.) "Now, get up or so help me I will lock your mind up like rush hour traffic with auto replays of Eye of the Tiger, Philadelphia Morning, and Olivia Newton John's Let's Get Physical!"
"You wouldn't, you can't!" (You really wouldn't would you?)
"Not only would I, could I, but I would enjoy doing it!" He laughed diabolically.

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