Our twenty-first-century rogue tells you how to lose weight without losing the respect of your boys.
Illustration by Celia Calle
I was recently emailing with an old high school fling about our upcoming class reunion. After some back and forth, she sent me a message asking, “Are you still as cute as you were back in the day? If so, we may have to sneak under the bleachers again for old time’s sake.” I popped a stiffy that could give the school flagpole a run for its money, till I remembered that we haven’t seen each other since graduation. I’m going to have to drop 20 pounds to have any chance with her. Now I’m trying to lose weight, but my boys have been riding me for limit ing myself to one beer at the bar and eating salads instead of burgers. I stopped going out with them altogether, but then they only gave me more shit for being lame.
What’s the best way to lose some weight with – out losing my friends? And don’t say hit the gym—I’m allergic to exercise. Besides, I’m not looking for a six-pack. I just want to get down to a weight where I can fool this girl by sucking it in, after which she’ll be sucking it.
You have a choice between being a fatass and being the butt of the joke. You’d think your boys would understand that you’re trying to get slim in order to get some trim, but I suspect explaining that to them would only make the jokes worse. My advice is, tell them, “Yeah, you guys are right, fuck this no-drinking shit,” then pull the old Tijuana-stripper trick: Suck their dicks for $50. Oh, wait, not that one. Tell them you’re pounding vodka when you’re actually drinking water. Yes, you’re going to have to start buying a lot of rounds out of their earshot to make this work, or when you get to the bar, immediately say you need to hit the john and, on your way, slip your waitress a fiver, tell her you’re secretly the designated driver, and every time you order a Martini, she’s to bring you a frosty Martini glass of water with olives in it. As your boys get progressively more obnoxious, apologize for their behavior and tip her more; she might find your manners so refreshing that you’ll get laid for once.
As for the steak house, try a little something I call bro-limia. Go ahead and wolf down that porterhouse and swill that beer. When you hit the sidewalk after dinner, fall a couple of steps behind your boys, discreetly stick a finger down your throat, and let ’er rip. The key here is to say something hilarious before you heave, and to do it on something funny. Ideal situation: You say “Yo no quiero Taco Bell!” and puke on a Chihuahua. You’ve dropped a pound and become a legend.
If barfing on small animals and children isn’t appealing, remember that no one’s going to fault you for choosing the lobster, which packs less than 150 calories (watch the butter!). For bar grub, rock the guac every time. It’s stealth chick food, basically just avocado, tomato, and onions. Sure, you’re going to want the sliders instead. Just remind your self that nothing tastes as good as fucking feels.