So, here I sit, all rehabilitated and feeling really healthy, right? Uh huh. I have become a chick and a whale, not necessarily in that order. My non-smoking has had some side effects that go far beyond the physical; it’s affecting my mental well being, too. To describe my figure as pear-shaped would be grabbing yesterday’s headlines. I’m on my way to manatee status and to make matters worse, I’ve begun looking at my profile in the mirror. I think I’m up to B cups. I have never, in all my life, spent any time in front of the bathroom mirror looking at my body, at least not without an appendage in my hand and Joe Cocker on the stereo. I am embarrassed, humiliated, and aghast and it’s all to blame on not smoking. I have become a woman in my preoccupation with my body. Do you think panty hose would keep my gut pulled in?

I have practiced arrogance all my life when looking at fat people. While fashionably thin on my caffeine, nicotine, and beer diet, I’ve said a million times, "If you don’t want to be fat, quit fucking eating!". Well, today, I’ve adopted a new rant; "If you don’t want to be fat, start smoking!" Seriously, my Great Grandmother started smoking on the advice of her doctor in the 1950s to keep her weight in check. She died when she was over 80 and I’m not sure smoking had anything to do with it. I don’t recall her jogging or anything, but she seemed in pretty good shape. Well, until she died, anyway. I hereby publicly apologize to all of the fat people I have had disgusting thoughts about while they sat in their cars eating donuts, Big Macs, and Slim Jims while I smoked. I now understand. I have developed and patented a device, which will be coming to a boutique near you soon, which looks like a cell phone, but is actually a disguised Slim Jim dispenser so that we can eat those bad little guys without anyone knowing. Kind of like Pez for us fat people. For the first time in my life, I eat lunch and then try to find something to do so I won’t wander over to that vending machine where the Snickers is hiding. It’s truly pathetic. I’ve traded one vice for another. I can breath but I cannot button my pants and grunt when I bend over. Wahoo. Maybe I should take up Heroin.

In addition to swelling up like a corpse in the South Florida sun, I’ve suddenly become aware of my sinuses. When I was smoking, it wasn’t abnormal to hack up a fair amount of crap in the mornings. I always assumed it was the smoking. Wouldn’t you? Guess what? IT WASN’T THE FUCKING CIGARETTES! It was my allergies, God damn it! The smoking had nothing to do with it! I can’t tell you how much motivation it gives me to keep up the campaign while all of these things make me feel so good about my decision.

So anyway, I’m doing really well not smoking. I know that my health is much improved. But if you read about me in the paper as being some 900 pound asshole who can’t get through his bedroom door, do me a favor; come by and throw in a pack of cigarettes.