Of course, when she told me this fantasy of hers, I put my arm around her comfortingly, gave her a kiss and whispered, "Your fantasy is stupid."
I mean, Jesus Christ, it's a fantasy. You've got your ideal fantasy situation and you're working your ass off! I don't know much**, but when you're imagining yourself losing weight you can do better than Bob Fucking Greene.
I shall now unleash my inner Mr. Roarke and welcome you... to Fat Fantasy Island!!! Smiles, everyone, smiles! Here are my 5 more interesting weight loss fantasies. They may contain disturbing images or ideas, but thankfully none involve actual exercise. Also, these fantasies cater predominantly to the male psyche, but they can easily be flipped around to be enjoyed by the fairer sex:
- The government finds out about that Bad Thing You Did. They come for you and put you in a black car with tinted windows. At the airport you're transferred to a Learjet, where a man in a white lab coat who looks a bit like Christopher Lloyd from Back to the Future draws your blood and examines it under a microscope. Once finished, he turns to one of the agents and nods knowingly. Upon touchdown you're hustled into a bunker at Langley and met by C.I.A. Deputy Director Stephen R. Kappes. Mr Kappes informs you that your cellular structure has been identified as ideal for a new Super-Soldier experiment, and if you will submit to a painless procedure and commit to work for the Agency for a period of ten years, your record will be expunged. Also, you'll be well compensated, and you'll never pay taxes again. The promises are sweet, but there is an air of menace... you know if you refuse, things will not be pleasant for you and your family. You agree, and are hastily strapped to a table as Deputy Director Kappes exits the room. The scientist who looks vaguely like Christopher Lloyd injects you with a purple, dimly-glowing liquid. You scream in pain, unsurprised that a seasoned agent like Kappes could lie so effortlessly. Within seconds your muscles begin to jerk and spasm, finally revving up into an all-over body-quake, as if you were riding in a fast-moving jeep over a series of speed bumps. After a few minutes the involuntary muscle movement stops, and you peer down at what had been your body. It's like looking at someone else: washboard abs, bulging muscles and even enlarged sex organs. They undo the straps and you stagger to your feet, discovering that you've also gotten taller! An agent approaches somewhat reluctantly and offers you a manila folder marked "Confidential, Eyes Only". He tells you he has your first assignment: a guerrilla leader in Peru needs your "attention", with extreme prejudice. Suddenly your hand lashes out, grabs the agent's neck and twists, and he flops to the ground, his neck broken. Dr. Lloyd's eyes widen in panic, his hands fumbling for the alarm button on the wall. He never makes it. You didn't ask for this, but by God you're going to teach them what it means to threaten you and yours. You raise your bloody fists high in the air and scream, "Kappes!!! You! Are! Mine!!!" Then you run your hands over your perfectly formed six-pack and marvel over how damn hot you are.
- Aliens hit you with a thin ray. I mean, the ray is actually pretty wide, but it makes you thin. They consider ramming a metal probe up your pooper for no reason, but mercifully decide against it and let you go. In a week your confused face is on the cover of the Weekly World News with the headline: "ALIENS PROBED MY POOPER".
- You awaken with a start to realize you are not alone in your bedroom. A human-sized shape crouches at the foot of your bed, watching you. As you begin to scream, the man lunges at you and covers your mouth with a hand as cold as ice. With his free hand he switches on the bed-side lamp, revealing both his pale, handsome features and sharp, bone-white fangs. It's a vampire! He hisses, "You are my descendant, ten generations removed, and I have come to grant you your birthright. Dominion over the night shall be yours. Do you wish this great gift? To become a vampire?" You have a few questions and he answers them one after the other. "Yes, you'll live forever. No, you can't go out in sunlight. Yes, you can still have sex. Goddamn that emo wench Anne Rice for spreading that rumor. No, it doesn't have to be gay sex, damn that bitch Rice to Hell. Yes, you'll be skinny." You go for it.
- You see an advertisement on late night television for a pill that will make you thin. You buy it and it works.
- Anna Nicole Smith shows up at your high school reunion. She is just like you've always imagined she was in real life: crazy, coked-up and dumb. Anna Nicole slouches over to you at the bar and asks you to buy her a drink. After you tolerate her small talk for a few minutes, she mistakenly assumes that you are kindred souls. In a hushed, serious tone, she tells you the secret of how she really got thin: In the Grotto at the Playboy mansion there is an immortal water nymph that is the source of all Hugh Hefner's success. You point out that Hef only moved into the mansion after his early gains with Playboy magazine, but Anna Nicole's only reply is to turn and throw up on that boy or girl who dissed you all those years ago in homeroom. Then Anna Nicole collapses, the overdose fatal, but before she dies she whispers to you the secret incantation to make the Grotto Nymph obey you in all things. It's insane... but what do you have to lose? You fly out to L.A. the next day, but getting past the gate and into the grotto is a problem. After concocting some wild schemes surely doomed to failure, you finally just settle on ringing the doorbell and seeing what happens. A snooty-looking butler answers (you were hoping for a Playmate), and you stammer that you'd like to be allowed go to the grotto, please. He eyes you quizzically, then closes the door in your face. After a few seconds you turn to leave dejectedly, but the door re-opens and Hef himself stands there in his silk pajamas. He begins to ask you a question, but when your eyes meet he stops abruptly. "You know, don't you," he rasps. "The incantation. Anna Nicole, you fucking whore." Then he turns dejectedly and motions you to follow. You walk together through the lavish mansion and down into the steamy mist of the infamous Playboy Grotto. There, on the steps, with the warm water gently lapping at your feet you softly say the words given to you by the fallen Playmate of the Year and Guess Jeans model. In an instant the water begins to swirl, and the shape of a beautiful woman rises from the center of the pool. A voice murmurs like a burbling mountain stream, and you hear it not with your ears but in your very soul. Hef hears it too, and begins to weep. He mutters sadly, "All this is yours now. All of it." You have pity for the great man and put a hand on his shoulder. You tell him that while the mansion and everything in it now belongs to you, you'd like him to stay as your honored guest for the rest of his life. You embrace, and then the nymph weaves her ancient spells. She tells you that you can peruse every Playboy magazine ever made and choose three Playmates. The girls will materialize exactly as they were in the pictorials and stay that way forever. They will live to serve you, even doing all the work of putting together the magazine every month. Hef nods. He's never assembled a magazine in his life; it's always been the magical servants. You settle in quickly to life in the mansion, the days filled with parties, orgies and pinball. Every day, you wonder when the crafty old man will betray your hospitality and try and take back what was once his, but he never does. He never does. Plus, you're thin.
* My wife is skinny and beautiful and wonderful and smart and please don't divorce me.
** Memorizing casts of movies I've never seen, playing an Empath in City of Heroes, juggling (3 balls only), 80's comic books, cat training, job interviewing, using two needle-guns effectively in Halo 2, Game-Mastering the Amber role-playing game, glaring at people with righteous rage and radio DJ'ing. Yes, that list was as pathetic to write as it was to read.