Costume

Dear Dominic,

I'm really in a pickle, brother. For the longest time I've wanted to dress up as pre-racism Hulk Hogan for Halloween; y'know, when he was A Real American® rocking 24 inch pythons and kept his views of black people well hidden. Part of the problem is that I've been procrastinating on fixing my diet, and the other part of the problem is the refugee crisis in Syria has really been distracting me. Hard to focus with all that craziness, brother. Because of those two issues, right now I look less Hulkster and more dumpster. Long story short, I have roughly 30 hours to lose 30 lbs and fit into the Hulk Hogan costume I literally just bought, brother. I know, I know, I shouldn't be waiting til the last minute to get in shape. Procrastinating has been a problem family and friends have insisted I address but that will have to wait for another time. Right now I need a weight loss miracle, brother.

Friendly Advice Taker


Dear FAT,

"Look less Hulkster and more dumpster?" Don't you ever try that People magazine prose bullshit again or I swear to God I will end you. Almost threw away your letter when I read that. That line made me physically ill and if my usually superb advice is less than stellar you will only have yourself to blame.

If you want to go from flab to fab in less than two days you'll have to think outside the box a bit. Eating sensibly and exercising regularly is all well and good but in your case more drastic measures are necessary to achieve the Hulkster's legendary physique. First things first, drown out the naysayers.

"Experts" will tell you it's impossible to lose 30 lbs in under 48 hours; experts also said Trump would never beat Hillary, and now he is the most powerful man in the free world. Sure, he hasn't passed any meaningful legislation in the nine months he's been in office. Sure, he hasn't made any progress on getting that fucking wall up. Sure, he hasn't refused the bait of getting into petty Twitter wars with every D-list celebrity who calls him a cunt. But y'know what? He's still MY president. Take that, liberals.

Now normally I would only advise using one, maybe two, of the following weight loss techniques at a time, but if Hulkamania is to run all over Halloween then you're going to have to implement all of them. If at any time in the next two days you want to quit or give up, ask yourself what would Hulk Hogan do? Would he quit? Or would he cheat on his wife and call black people niggers? I think you know the answer. Here are the techniques, in no particular order.

Sweat more. Athletes who compete in sports with weight classes (think MMA or powerlifting) will often cut water weight by sweating it out. Put on some sweatpants, a hoodie, and jump on an airdyne bike until you've lost a few pounds. Afterwards relax in a sauna for a few more pounds.

Bleed yourself. Blood is thicker than water, sweat is basically water, so blood is thicker than sweat, therefore an ounce of blood weighs more than an ounce of water. That's just science. Go to your local physician and get some leeches for proper bloodletting. Be cautious, though; if your physician is a woman then she is most likely a witch and should be burnt at the stake.

Shame yourself. Although we live in the age of body positivity, nothing kick starts a solid weight loss regimen like unnecessarily critical dissection of every minor bodily flaw and a self perception that is completely incongruous with reality. Go full ballerina-trying-to-secure-her-spot-in-elite-ballet-company-at-grave-cost-to-both-physical-and-mental-health, really cut loose here. (Sample shaming in next tip)

Don't eat. You can't gain weight if you don't put food into your fat fucking mouth. Besides, once whatever disappointing Halloween party you attend finishes - where people will no doubt be too distracted by your double chin to notice your love handles - you can stop at Wal Mart and pick up some cheap candy, you obese piece of shit. God, you disgust me. (See? Easy)

No sleeping. Your body's metabolism slows when asleep, ergo no sleep. Plus I imagine you don't want to get blood all over your mattress.

Smoke cigarettes. C'mon dude, don't be lame. All the other kids are doing it; even Julie is. From third period? She'd totally go for you if you started smoking, I'm sure. Dude! You're the only one with a brother over 18, how else are we going to get cigarettes! Just smoke one, and if you don't like it, I won't keep pushing.

Negro spirituals. For this one you'll have to get out of character as the Hulkster since I feel he wouldn't approve. Between the conditioning work and bleeding and lack of food, you'll be experiencing at least minor discomfort. While it won't directly aid weight loss, negro spirituals do make arduous tasks slightly more palatable. 

These techniques carry with them some inherent danger, so while I won't say they will probably kill you, I will say they should kill you. The human body is only so durable. However, if you survive, you will unleash a Hulkamania not seen since he slammed Andre the Giant in '87. Good luck, brother! 

Return

After roughly five years I have made the trek back to the world of academia to finally finish my undergraduate degree. Despite being told my entire life that it is never too late to complete one's degree, I feel more sheepish than triumphant in my return. Currently I'm only taking two classes. I'm 28, just two years short of 30, colloquially referred to as the "your shit should be together by now" age. 30 is more than halfway to 50, which is only 15 years away from the retirement age of 65, which is only 13 years away from the average age of death in the US. Basically I'm almost dead and still don't have my diploma.

First day of Motor Development we are told to introduce ourselves to our neighbors. A cheery eyed young woman sits to my left and introduces herself. Because I am bad with names, faces, and feet, her name escapes me. "I'm Dominic," I say, "just trying to finish my degree after a long layoff."

"Oh really? What made you decide to come back?" The Germans use the word sehnsucht to describe a sense of intense longing, a simple word for the complex emotion of yearning for a life, an idea, that has escaped me thus far. Her demeanor implies a hopefulness, an optimism that I wish not to tarnish with my truth. I stare deep into her eyes.

"To serve as a cautionary tale, my dear." She absorbs the gravity of my words - intent and sincerity - and is visibly uncomfortable. "Also," I roll up my pants to better show off my footwear, "to bring back Heelys." I pull off some hella sick ass tricks with my Heelys, much to the delight of my peers and professor.

"Damn bro, save some pussy for the rest of us," says my professor as I Heely out of class eight minutes after it started. 

I've found that media depictions of the modern day college student have been vastly blown out of proportion. Sure, we are required to spit on a picture of Milo Yiannopolous before entering any academic building. Sure, my statistics class spent the first two weeks going over appropriate pronouns (one lecture devoted entirely to the Elven) before getting down to brass tacks. Sure, both of my professors insist on passing around complimentary e-cigarettes along with scantrons. Sure, one registered Republican is burnt at the stake each month to appease Mount Sanders, lest it erupt and engulf us in socialist flame and ash. Ignoring all that I've mostly found my peers to be an affable bunch that hardly represent the SJW stereotype perpetuated by the media. Except for this one dude in my Stats lab.

He's an older gentleman - mid 40s - rocking the shit out of the try-hard glasses/fuckboy haircut combo. His gaze for our 21 year old instructor walks the precarious line between awkwardly seductive and dude-chill-the-fuck-out-she's-a-person-not-a-prime-Brazilian-steak. Aside from his date rapey stares, what annoys me the most about him is he feels the need to fucking interject at every momentary respite in the lecture. Jokes no one needs, insights no one finds profound, sentences devoid of substance. He's what happens when the word pretentious goes super Saiyan.

As far as actual course work is concerned, my return has been like riding a bike. By "a bike" I mean "a unicycle on fire" and "riding" I mean "being bludgeoned to death with." This is a good sign, as my previous attempt at being a college student consisted of no cycling in any form. I have refined a schedule of class, workout, study, cry on a park bench while eating lasagna, work, more study, cry until physically incapable of producing anymore tears, and sleep. Repeat until the end of the semester. With only five weeks left to go, I think I can manage. 

Cowboys

Dear God,

What's up Bro - can I call You Bro? - what have You been up to? I mean aside from further destabilizing the Middle East. I'm not judging, Bro, we all have our hobbies. Some people like to jog, some people like to paint, You happen to enjoy petty wars between dozens of loosely affiliated coalitions fighting over whose dirt is most deserving of Your favor. To each his own. But I'm not here to clumsily talk about international politics (we literally just elected a guy for that), I'm here for something more important, more salient. 

As I'm sure You know since You're You, the NFL playoffs are currently underway. Appreciate You helping the Patriots cover the spread, as that saved my ass with biracial Italian mobster Anthony "Fat Tony Toni Tone" Roselli. Dude's a real pain. Now I know prayer doesn't work on a 1:1 scale; I can't pray for something and expect it to happen, obviously. I also know You aren't real and have mostly outlived Your usefulness as a coping mechanism for goat herders' death anxiety, but none of that matters right now. What matters is that You need to have the Green Bay Packers beat the Dallas Cowboys. 

Now I know what You're thinking; "Oh my Me, I just helped with the Patriots game! A 16 point spread against a pretty solid defense!? You can't seriously be asking Ol' Magic Fingers to whip up some more shenanigans." Your Holiness, You are absolutely correct (as usual). To continue to aid my crippling gambling addiction would be both immoral and irresponsible. This prayer is not for my own monetary gain, nor is it even to see the Packers win, even more norer is it to see the Cowboys themselves lose. I am praying to see Cowboys fans lose. 

You're mysterious. We get that. But jeez, Bro, did You have to only use the autism clay when forming the most annoying fan base in all of sports? Since they started winning a few months ago not a day has gone by without hearing or reading a grown man doing his damnedest to mask depression and a failing marriage proclaim WE DEM BOYZ like he's part of some elite strike force that specializes in being annoying as fuck. I didn't even add caps locks for effect, that's how they write it. I was recently assaulted by a gang of Cowboys fans - each more mouth breathery than the last - at a 7/11 when I refused to respond to one of their cereal eating gestures with "let Zeke eat." And these fucking flags! My heart bleeds for the Peruvian children forced to produce each and every one of these flags flown from lawns, doors, cars, and anywhere else that doesn't really need a sports team flag. 

I can forgive the utter lack of tact and humility displayed by Cowboys fans. I can forgive the cannibalization of former franchise quarterback and five time Aww Shucks Face Award winner Tony Romo. I can forgive the tangible hubris known as AT&T Stadium. I can even forgive the fair weather nature inherent to the Cowboys fan base, but I cannot forgive the cumulative awfulness of Cowboys fans.

So if You're awesome (which You are) then please have the Cowboys lose in a manner that would produce the highest amount of grown man tears. Late fumble, missed field goal, that sort of thing. Oh, wait! It might be a bit much but if we could have a showing of Dez Bryant's latest one man play The Catch Vol 2: Not This Shit Again, that would be fantastic.  

Amen.