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If you have the pleasure of remembering my previous incarnation, from time to time, you’ll recall that I would share the depths of my narcissism with you, the readers. It’s a side I show publicly very rarely, and because I need an outlet for times like these when I fret about the state of my body, or my haircut, or the occasional stray nose hair.

Today I came to the conclusion that my abdominal region will just never be all it can be. Oh, it shows moments of progress, but it’ll never be as good as some people think it could. And I’m not crushed or utterly disappointed by it; that’s just the way things will be.

There are two solid reasons for this: First, I have always had a bit of an accordion-like stomach. It protrudes slightly even in the best of times and is highly expandable. It’s an asset if you’re a physical comic; my impersonation of Demi Moore’s classic Vanity Fair cover

The mother of all covers

is, after a deep breath, always good for lots and lots of laughs. But it keeps your abs from looking shredded. At that point the only way to prove that your core is rock solid is to take punches to the stomach. Not really feeling that, you know?

The other problem is that I like beer. And when I drink it, I tend to drink it in mass quantities. When you combine that with my midsection’s expansion capabilities, if the shirt comes off at an inopportune time, well, I’m going to look like I have a spare tire instead of the tightly coiled midsection I possessed before I first said the words, “Blue Point Toasted Lager, please.”

I’ve been trying to think of ways around that, but none of them are palatable. First, I’m not ordering wine at a bar. That is unacceptable. As Oklahoma State football coach Mike Gundy would say, “I’m a man!” A man who whines about the state of his gut, but still. “Sideways” did not make it okay for single men to ask “Hey barkeep, got any good chardonnay?”

I could go all liquor all the time, but liquor seems to often lead to frequent questionable hookup decisions. Not good.


So now, it’s strictly liquor for Well Whiskey Friday!* After all, they call it a beer gut, not a “gin-and-tonic” gut! Right? Yeah!

*exceptions will be made for: free beer events, when it is after three a.m. and I am trying to stretch out my budget, if that’s what’s left in the fridge, if I win one in a bet, bought for me by any cougars who care to make my acquaintance….


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