The O-Ring/Manhood Proxy

It has come to my attention that I am on a renegade diet headed nowhere close to the cob salad craze. Which by the way, how can someone get geeked on a salad? Is there any meat in it? Or is it the dressing that seals the deal? Newsflash- salad dressing is garden gravy, not good for you either (at least not through excessive amounts, but we all have self control). Check out my weekend eating.

Saturday I woke up early to get messed up by the dentist and drool on myself for three hours post procedure. I intro the day with some applesauce (not because I am some lamo, but because the stuff with cinnamon is sweet), then logical choice is pork chop in a spicy hickory marinade, a couple beers, and then two custom made burgers that could be mistaken for beef saucers, easily 1/3 lb after the grill. Those were delicious but not the best of the weekend.

I was set to meet my dad for pizza mid Sunday. However he was caught in some tourist thing and I went for a snack with my friends until he called. Well, I ordered a basket of onion rings. I ate them myself. Pretty much 2/3 lb (guess) of onion rings consumed in 30 minutes. I then drove to my apartment only to be called when I got there. He was at the pizzeria, waiting. Now I had to get there and prepare myself to eat again.

I sit down and couldn't even stomach a drink stronger than water. He then mentions that we should get the usual. Fearing that, I looked blankly, another order of onion rings and a large sausage pizza was in the mix. Now this is a smaller portion of rings but after already eating my fill of them I had to now hide the fact I ate some not too long ago.

I took care of those no problem. Then comes the pizza. I know pizza, and more importantly the psychology of pizza. As each slice is eliminated the mental state of the eater changes. First it is great to eat, then it turns into I could go for a couple more, finally there are 4-6 slices (if square) or 2 (triangle) that remain. At this point the pizza begins to taunt as they are the few, the proud, the leftovers. It is now a mission to eat these bastards off the plate and leave nothing but it's greasy memory on a paper napkin. There were four pieces left my dad takes two says "we need to finish this, and you need to take those two...Or you're not a man." Joking sure, but never has he given such an ultimatum. I knew that there was a better way to get one's manhood justified. I am sure the ladies will dig that too.