This weekend was one full of failures, diet and otherwise. First, I spent a good eight hours on Friday having eaten only popcorn and Reese’s Pieces which, when combined, are ridiculously delicious. Flesh Wizard hates it, I think because it offends his baser ogre sensibilities, but let me tell you: Popcorn and peanut butter candy is where it’s at. This was followed by a torta, Spanish for “Oh god, that’s a giant sandwich.” I topped off the day of poor decision-making with an ill-advised trip to the loneliest McDonalds ever.

Thankfully, Saturday was not so much of a failure, gullet-wise. I even got lost on first for like an hour as I wandered between Vine and Pine on 1st (long story, don’t want to talk about it), looking for my jerk of an editor. It is probable that I managed to walk off an entire day's worth of nondiscretionary food journeying along the Champs Elydouchebag.

That ended up being a surprisingly responsible night, but I fixed everything on Sunday, don’t worry. I stayed up all night and then ate nothing but a hamburger all day. Which obviously lead to a food coma of such mighty proportions I didn’t wake up until 3am this morning, feeling quite well-rested. The only socially acceptable thing to do was of course cook a steak and then go back to bed.

The final cost of the weekend? Exactly eight ounces. My body is weird.

I figured I would try and actually detail my food habits for once; turns out it’s kind of boring and makes me look like a hippopotamus when written out. Oh well, at least my hand works well enough to man a keyboard again. I'll consider that a victory.