the fatty?

     I was tagged in a photo on Facebook. Not really a bad thing. Usually. This time I was tagged as a cartoon caricature. I am not really sure what kind of animal the picture depicted, but it looked kind of like a chicken hawk. Maybe just a chick, but I am going to stick with chicken hawk. Again not such a bad thing. Then I saw the caption. “The Fatty”

     Seriously? Really? Thanks Jenna-Loserface… I could understand “the good looking one.” Well, that may be a bit of a stretch. I may be man-pretty. Then again I may not. It seriously depends on the hair day. If you take into account the amount of smack I talk on the rink during Hockey ball, I would relish “the loud one.” Kirk Maltby nor even Rich has nothing on me when it comes to being “chippy.” However, I am “The Fatty.” Nice. The bloated Elvis I am not. Nor am I the overweight Jim Morrison.

     Chunky. Yup. Under tall. I buy that. Portly, okay, but the fatty? Stocky? Maybe. Might as well braid my back hair and call me a Sasquatch.

     I know those six pack abs have turned into the 12-pack variety. I know the gun show is a more like a pistol show. The waist has seen a few too many nights being wasted. I do not even want to address the buttocks. Suffice it to say that I am not in great shape.

     Once upon a time there was a buff Bruce. I am not making this up. I think there may be a picture or two that supports this hypothesis. There are definitely some people that are still alive that can support this. Right now the buff Bruce is on life support. What put buff Bruce on life support? The answer is long and complex. Not really. Actually, he may be dead. I do not know. He may be hanging with JFK, Elvis, Mr. Mo Jo Risin’ and all the others that may not be dead. He could be chillin’ with old Walt Disney.

     I do know that I LOVE McDonalds Mcdoubles. I love fries. I REALLY love gas station hotdogs. If it is bad for you, I probably like it. I like chips. I like both the potato and the corn variety. And not those baked ones. I have had dog treats that taste better than baked potato chips. And yes, as surprising as it may be I have had Milk-Bones dog snacks. By choice. And more than once. Don’t ask. I also have had a cat treat. Also, don’t ask. These may be a story for another blog.

     The cigarettes may also have something to do with it. I can blame the lack of desire to watch what I eat, take a run or exercise after a long day of work. That may have something to do with it. My wife’s cooking may have had something to do with it. Probably not, as she rarely makes me meatloaf, one of her specialties. And I do most of the cooking. I could blame myself, but really, why? I am not to blame for my own mistakes. Oh wait, I am. Well, that and the love of Alfredo sauce, anything with melted butter, and pork skewers wrapped in bacon.

     At one time the buff Bruce ate a diet of lean meats, and low fat stuff. He worked out at least five days a week. He also and did yoga, aerobics and Pilates. Not really. No, real men push real weights. He did that. Buff Bruce pushed free weights. Max weight, low reps.

     Can you picture me doing Pilates? If you can, do not Bogart what you are smoking and/or drinking, because that is the only thing that would make me be able to picture that. Even stoned and/or drunk I would have a hard time imagining me doing Pilates. BTW, I do not really even know what is involved in Pilates, other than some movie star and an instructor.

     Seriously, the fatty? I prefer to call it the under tall. Maybe a bit overweight. Possibly the out of shape, but the fatty? If I were sensitive I may be hurt, but since I show a smidge of a lack of sensitivity, according to a few people, that cannot be the case. Miffed. Maybe just a little. Not really, it is more than a bit amusing. Regretful? Not really, I made my choices. Determined. Definitely. Maybe.

     Buff Bruce did not die, if he is dead, overnight. The lapse into the fatty did not happen overnight. No, it was series of bad choices, and beer goggle bravado. He is still alive. I think. Plugged into a machine that is keeping him alive. But he keeps getting punched in the nuts by smoker Bruce, McDouble Bruce, beer and booze Bruce, and of course, Gas station Hotdog Bruce. As you can probably imagine there are few more Bruce’s in my head as well.

     There is time before the hockey ball season. Buff Bruce may come out of this. He may not be dead. He may show up at training camp in the best shape of his life. Ok, at least not as the fatty. Maybe we can hope for the nearly buff Bruce. That, of course means Goodbye gas station hotdogs. Goodbye Mcdoubles. Goodbye beer and booze. Goodbye smoking….Yeah, right, let’s be realistic. Let’s see how it goes after Wintercamping.

Just another day in paradise