200 pounds? No fucking way!

So, last weekend I was over at my future in-law's taking a pee in the bathroom when I noticed a white, 8" x 8" square on the floor.

It was a bathroom scale.

"Eh, what the hell," I thought.

I hopped on. It calculated 197 pounds.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I muttered.

You know, I run almost every day. I eat salad. I eat turkey. I eat like an Asian. But, yet I’ve still managed to stay put in the upper 190's since the beginning of 2007.

Jack Frost, Mother Nature, Father Time and Old-Man Winter are having a good ol’ laugh at my expense. They’re also having an orgy (the lucky bastards).

But, I digress. I'm 35. I drink beer (Maybe 2, 3, or 18 per day.) My metabolism is definitely slowing down. And I eat a lot of french fries. So, it's not like I don't know where the extra calories are coming from.

Here’s a little mathematic equation I thought up:
Less than 20 minute workouts every day + continuous beer drinking x sitting on your ass typing ad copy for 8 hours = EXTRA POUNDAGE.

I read somewhere that every year of your life, you gain an extra pound. Almost a bastardized way of saying 'every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings'.

So when I’m 70 years old, I should weigh somewhere around 230 pounds.

Great. It won’t be long before you see me requesting one of those fat carts at Walmart to do my shopping.

I'm hungry. Pass the french fries and gravy.