Fears

What if Slick just didn't weigh in last week and in fact he has lost seven pounds and is 3 percentage points ahead of me?

What if one of my thigh muscles snaps? You know how when you were in gym class with some sociopath like for instance Earlton and they told you to duckwalk all over the gym and then they told you to run sprints? You know how you feel like your thigh muscle is going to snap? What if it did?? If my thigh muscle snapped, I'd be paralyzed and then how would I get my cardio?

What if Ditchweed Guy NEVER comes back?

Bacon, lettuce and tomato salad

I certainly couldn't eat one of these today, what with Slick breathing down my neck and Earlton cancelling classes right and left, but back in the early days of the competition, I ate a number of these delicious bacon, lettuce and tomato salads. Here is how it is done:

Get a big mixing bowl and fill it with bitter greens--mesclun or what have you. I get from the farmers' market, where they have such as baby mustard.* Chop up a b-load of tomatoes, fry some bacon, maybe say four strips, throw on mayonnaise, crumble your bacon over, salt and pepper, stir, consume.

Two more pounds down. No notion what Slick is up to. Results supposed to go up tomorrow. I'm nervous, but I still got a couple tricks up my sleeve.


*"Such as" used that way is stolen from Roast Beef.

wrst F33rz 2tlly r3@lizd!

Ditchweed guy was not there
and neither were the ditchweeds. I was forced to buy zucchini and cucumber instead. Zucchini and cucumber of dubious pedigree, too. My heart is cold with fear: what if ditchweed guy is kaput for the whole summer? I will be forced to SUPPLEMENT with MAINSTREAM FOOD!

More Bulletins:

• Slick is STILL in first place.
• I walked up some stairs.
• Earlton's Klass is tonight!

The Devious Mr. Slick

The other day in Earlton's* Klass, I observed my rival, Slick, minutely to determine what occult powers have enabled him to reach 1st place (for now) in this competition. I discovered that at all times, whether at work or at rest, be he standing, sitting, or lying on the floor groaning and not doing his core strengthening moves, Slick sluices great cataracts of sweat from his every pore.

So! I have discovered your secret weapon, Mr. Slick!

All I have to do is spend the last week of the competition up to my neck in a sealed, heated barrel sucking ice chips and spitting out the meltwater. I'll get plenty of cardio batting away the flying toads and other hallucinations I'll start to have once my brain begins to shrivel in my skull like an oyster left ajar in the noonday sun. Hell, jockeys and Ana kidz do this type of thing all the time. Piece. Of. Cake.

Speaking of cake, after I win I am spending my $750 on cake.

*Not his real name.