Five Foods That Can Fuck Off!

If you ever want to give your self esteem a swift kick in the nuts then go to a department store, check that you’re in the your 30’s and then try to buy some new jeans.  It really is one of the most depressing things a person living in the western world with no real money or health issues can ever go through.  (I am sure there would be some people in third world countries reading this and thinking that I could go fuck myself but my argument is this:  don’t get angry with me, sell the iphone you’re using to read this blog and buy yourself a meal.  And I’m the bad guy?  Sheesh.)
I’ve never been a fat guy and I would say even now I am not a fatty.  All the way through my childhood to my teens to my twenties I was quite skinny.  I think it was because I use to play sport five times a week, would always be on the run and hadn’t discovered the joys of sinking a lot of booze and then chewing on a souvlaki at 4am.  So it turns out when you take away the regular sport, the always on the run vibe but keep the souvlaki habit…that’s when you start to resemble Jonah Hill and realise the best you can hope to be is the light relief in a Judd Apatow movie. 
As I said I am not fat but I have since turning thirty (seven years ago for you crazy cats keeping score) lost my angular features and six pack.  I don’t know where they’ve gone.  I had hoped they’d slipped behind the lounge but I think they really have taken off and hit the road together under assumed names with no hope of ever being found again.  Now I look like I could be ABC presenter and respected journalist Tony Jones younger brother.  As for the six pack, I have a stomach that is smooth and resting ever so slightly on the precipice of my jeans, almost daring me to eat one more fatty food before “Geronimo!” it leaps to it’s death leaving me with the kind of gut even David Boon would think, “Get some exercise fatty.”
The problem is I like exercise but I really dig food.  All sorts of food, good food, bad food, even sometimes stuff I am not certain is food.  I am mad for eating and it isn’t just because I am hungry; I’ll eat out of boredom, I’ll eat because I’m angry, I’ll eat just to spite all those nasty emails I just received from third world countries over my earlier comments.  I have defiantly stared down my own image in a mirror, brazenly claiming that if I take one more step forward I will eat this loaf of white bread, I will fucking do it, so back off bitch!  And use I do often eat looking at myself in the mirror…it is the best way to start the weeping at the appropriate moment.
Why with all our technology can we not make a Brussels sprout taste like a cheeseburger?  We can send a man to the moon; surely we can make a shitty food tasty for fat kids all over the world?  If you could make cake as healthy as asparagus then surely that is a win/win for everyone?  Especially if after you ate the cake and you did a wee it smelt like asparagus then booyah!  I am fucking in.  (Because that is why we really eat asparagus isn’t it?  For the wee sensation?  Right?  Just me?  Carry on…)
So I have decided to be more careful with my eating habits before I can become a statistic the Herald Sun loudly proclaims on the front page in size 48 font “Australians Are the Fattest Cunts in Australia”.  And as a kiss off to my youth and my high metabolism I now tell you with authority which five foods can go fuck themselves.
1.    Cake
Thanks for nothing cake.  Sure you look pretty and you whisper sweet nothings into my teeth but what good have you done for me lately?  Or ever?  Sometimes you lay the cream on a bit thick but I will admit it does make you look very attractive.  Pavlova?  Yes, you Ms P, I’m looking straight at you.  You adorn yourself with fruit but you give me diabetes with every bite.  And what about you Orange Cake?  Hiding up the back with your plain façade but suddenly you’ve seduced me and I’m losing my job as a PE teacher.  What?  Damn you cake, you confuse me in so many ways my metaphors are making me sound creepy.  Fuck off.
2.    Ice Cream
I know we go a long way back but seriously there is nothing good about you.  I know you’re the only food I can eat that proves I am not racist but just because I’ll chow down on chocolate, vanilla, banana and pistachio it still makes me a fat man.  And the truth is I am never that satisfied when I am finished.  No matter how carefully we hang out I find you staining my shirt or running down my fingers.  Oh, and while I’m at it, you can tell your Italian mate, Gelato, that he can fuck off too.
3.    Potatoes
What the fuck is up with you?  You grow in the ground, you’re as tasty as all buggery in so many ways but you make me look like a Ukrainian peasant woman on the run from the KGB.  I don’t care how you disguise yourself whether it is as a potato chip or a hot chip; you’re a bad person.  I order the fish of the day at Mario’s and there you are sitting seductively to one side.  So tasty.  So good.  Ah God damn it, I’m thinking about you again like you’re a lost lover.  Fuck off.
4.    Pasta
My nemesis.  I could eat you every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I don’t care how you come served.  Puttanesca, ravioli, gnocchi or plain Jane spaghetti…I don’t care.  I thought we had something special but all you’ve left me with is a wavering confidence in public and an inability to get on with my work because I think about you so much.  You’re my oldest friend but you are definitely on the other side of the ledger now…my mirror image of Hell.  If you came served with a goatee it would finalise just how evil you are.  Get fucked!
5.    Chocolate
You’re a son of a bitch.  I only recently realised I eat you every day.  A Milky bar while buying the paper?  Yes please.  A Freddo Frog while you’re walking down the street?  Don’t mind if I do.  Bounty Bar?  All right!  Sometimes I treat myself with you.  Yeah, I admit it.  I’ll say to myself, “Hey, well done little fella, you didn’t kill anyone today, you know what you deserve?  Haigh’s Chocolate.”  You’re going to be the hardest to break up with because you’ve been there through the good times and the bad times.  Good review for your comedy festival show?  Time for some chocolate.  Bad review for your comedy festival show?  Time for some chocolate.  Average review for your comedy festival show?  Time for some chocolate…just so I can feel something again.  With you I give you a cheeky kiss on the cheek and bid you adieu but if you sneak into my mouth while I am asleep or drunk I can tell you here and now you will receive a hearty “Fuck off” from this guy.
So they are my top five foods that can fuck off.  A special mention most go out to Jube lollies, which have come in handy when I am stressed.  They have been good for me in that regard because I chew on them the way cowboys used to chew on tobacco.  At least my breath smelt better but if I had to draw a gun I would pass out from the effort.  Damn you snakes, raspberries and strawberries and creams, you can fuck off too.  At least I can buy a teething ring to replace you while the other five foods have left a hole in my heart that can only be filled by an all you can eat buffet at the Blacktown RSL.
So I’m off to buy some healthy food.  I’m sure once I shed this little bit of weight I will feel like a brand new girl ready to kick up her heels and trip the light fantastic.  And lets be honest; surely it will be just as satisfying to spoon a leek in the middle of the night, than say, a half eaten chocolate cake, right?  Right?
Oh dear….
Justin Hamilton
Canberra, the capital of Aussieland
October 30th, 2009