Empty caloric cravings as social equalizer. Enjoyed by pigs and Pigs alike.
So I’m ’bout to get real here with saying a big “fuck you” to my need for Western Bacon cheeseburgers and their ilk. I’m going to try to just cut out fast food and bad shit altogether because this crazy-great frame of mind I’m in has me thinking I can scale mountains and crush ice and drop ‘stones’ of weight in time for the July-August bikini zenith like I’m the impossible space-time-blip lovechild of Braveheart and that bitch from Biggest Loser, and I have invented the new category I call Glamburger as both a biting commentary on the image of “burger” in the visual parole of post-modern pop culture, and as a way to make me sit and cry at the keyboard while gnawing my own fist.
Also retconned in an old entry.
Now, don’t panic. This is not turning in to a food journal. I hate that crap. I don’t need any ass-crazy “I’m so fat” “No you’re not” ED thinspiration folklore to get my internet rocks off: I just like cheesey shuck-and-jive pictures that encourage obesity in the name of capitalism. And … I like bacon and cheeseburgers. (hangs head.)