Why Overeating Is Better Than Smoking Crack

February 14, 2014 § Leave a comment

I have terrible eating habits. It’s a fact. Dinner might be Oreo cookies, a Tootsie roll pop, a bowl of Fruit Loops and salami (hot Calabrese only please). I can easily eat an entire pumpkin pie in a day or several bags of chips. Today, for instance, I had chicken wings with suicide sauce, blue cheese and a Coke for breakfast. For breakfast folks!

I will surely die young or youngish. Realistically I am not young anymore. I am middle aged really. I expect to die anytime between now – my middle years – but before the average age women die in this country (Canada), which is about 76 (I think). But it seems unlikely that I’ll be around in my 90s. I am realistic. (Right now I am also sucking on a cigarette, so who knows which might kill me first.)

I don’t smoke crack, so you might ask how is it that I know that overeating is better than smoking crack. Well I don’t, not really. I have no intention of testing it either, not at this stage of my life when I am older and I know better that it could kill me if I get in too deep. Basically, I learned my lesson with junk food and have been for 30 years. I can’t shake it and it has probably warped my brain in strange and unchartered ways in addition to doing some damage to my body, but not in the same way as crack.

What I do know is that overeating can make you overweight and crack can make you underweight. Neither is particularly good for you (the experts tell us). On top of being underweight, you might end up having to do some unbelievably nasty things to feed the crack monster. So in the grand scheme, being overweight is better than being a crack addict.

Maybe this is obvious to folks out there, but I thought it might be a good idea to remind myself of this, that I am only on a slow path toward destruction and not on a rapid, free fall of a train wreck toward complete annihilation. I could be doing meth with lesions all over my body and a few less teeth or something truly scary called crocodile which is popular in Russia and makes chunks of your muscles fall off or I could be taking some drug up my butt hole. So things could be a lot worse.

Is it prudent to remind myself that things could get worse? Probably not. It’s more depressing than heartwarming or encouraging.

Now I feel sad, so I’ll go eat something sweet and fatty and salty at the same time. If only I could inject it for a quick fix.


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