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avramI went into a restaurant to get a hunk o’ steer,
The waitron up an’ sez to me, “We serve no red meat here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s low-carb this, an’ low-carb that, ’til you can’t even think;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when your waist begins to shrink,—
Your waist begins to shrink, my boys, your waist begins to shrink,
O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when your waist begins to shrink.
I started up on Atkins again last Tuesday. As of this morning’s weigh-in, I’m down eight pounds. And it’s real weight loss — when I lay on my back with my hands on my belly, there’s a layer of padding that was there a week ago that isn’t there now.
I’ll be able to afford to go back to the gym soon, as money goes. As time goes, well, we’ll see. I will need some kind of exercise.
And here’s the original Kipling poem I’m parodying. (Yeah, you can sort of sing it to The Who’s “Pinball Wizard”.) I haven’t actually had any trouble finding what to eat. There’s a nice (expensive) café next to work; I’ve been bringing cold meat and hard-boiled eggs from home, and buying lettuce, bacon, and other light things at the pay-by-weight salad bar.
The waitron up an’ sez to me, “We serve no red meat here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s low-carb this, an’ low-carb that, ’til you can’t even think;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when your waist begins to shrink,—
Your waist begins to shrink, my boys, your waist begins to shrink,
O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when your waist begins to shrink.
I started up on Atkins again last Tuesday. As of this morning’s weigh-in, I’m down eight pounds. And it’s real weight loss — when I lay on my back with my hands on my belly, there’s a layer of padding that was there a week ago that isn’t there now.
I’ll be able to afford to go back to the gym soon, as money goes. As time goes, well, we’ll see. I will need some kind of exercise.
And here’s the original Kipling poem I’m parodying. (Yeah, you can sort of sing it to The Who’s “Pinball Wizard”.) I haven’t actually had any trouble finding what to eat. There’s a nice (expensive) café next to work; I’ve been bringing cold meat and hard-boiled eggs from home, and buying lettuce, bacon, and other light things at the pay-by-weight salad bar.