Getting Fatter Every Day

Pictured: Me.

I’ve gained 40 pounds in three years.

Granted, I was too skinny three years ago, but there’s something about gaining 40 pounds in three years that makes me want to curl up into a fleshy, fatty ball and cower in a corner eating Cheetos until I die. I’d post older and current photos of myself, but I am a vampire that cannot be seen through a camera lens. Even if you could see me through the camera lens, my horribly disfigured, pockmarked, acne-ridden, caved-in, lupus-ruined face would ruin whatever meal you’re eating in front of your computer or phone right now? Spaghetti? If you’re eating Ragu I will kick your uncultured ass so hard it’ll break your teeth.

On paper my weight doesn’t look too bad. I’m 5’9″. At my lowest I weighed 138 with a normal BMI of 20.4, but now I weight 177 with an overweight BMI of 26.1 and eight pounds away from normal. I’m carrying literally all the extra weight in my belly, so I’m muffin-toppin’ worse than your fat mama. I’ve gone from XS button-downs to M, I’ve gone from S t-shirts to L. I literally have a whole closet of clothes that I can’t wear anymore; clothes that I can’t look at without breaking down into a torrent of gravy-laden tears. I’m afraid of going outside lest mean teenagers pelt me with tomatoes and cabbage. I’m afraid of staying inside lest my mean wife and kids pelt me with pots and pans and television remote controls.

Let me tell you about the greatest appetite suppressant on the market today: depression! Ahhhh, good ol’ depression. Depression brought my weight down even when I didn’t want it to! Here was my eating regimen on a normal, depressed day, if I was lucky:

Watch it, kid. Your metabolism is going to betray you in a few decades!

1 Protein Bar (200 calories)
2 Eggs (160 calories)
Chicken Nuggets (200 calories)
Cottage Cheese (110 calories)
Some sort of dinner thing (100 – 500 calories)

Considering that a MAN OF MY STATURE needed roughly 2,200 calories a day to maintain a weight of 150, I was eating half my needed intake or less. For months! Even at 138 pounds I needed 1,800 calories! Ahhh, depression, you sure do work in mysterious ways.

So what can I attribute this sudden reversal of weight loss that turned into accidental uncontrollable weight gain? Here’s a fun combination of things that I may be able blame in order to deflect responsibility and accountability away from my own self!

Cereal Addiction?

I wrote at length about my unfortunate vice, a vice that rivals the vice of all those shiftless lay-abouts under the overpass with their constant itchiness and their wool hats in the summer: Cereal. Holy mother of AI-generated Jesus do I like cereal. I could eat cereal all day, every day. I could eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast, Frosted Mini Wheats for lunch, Peanut Butter Chex for dinner, and Lucky Charms for a late night snack. I could eat a whole box in one sitting, and I have. This is why I know I could. Keep up.

I even like the really shitty cereals. Special K? Delicious. Muselix? Sign me up. Unfrosted mini wheats? … well, let’s not go nuts, here. I’d rather eat an entire wicker statue of Betty White. I’d rather eat tree bark off of a dog’s penis. I’d rather watch anime.

Can I blame cereal entirely for my affliction? Hell no, but it’s a significant contributor. I had to stop buying my own cereal, but I still have the rest of the family to contend with. My kids like Honey Nut Cheerios, which means I’m eating a lot of Honey Nut Cheerios lately. I’m thinking about banning cereal completely from the house and telling the kids that they can subsist on rye bread crumbs from the bottom of the toaster from now on. It’s only fair to me, after all.

Sure, I GUESS that’s enough Cinnamon Toast Crunch…

This Blog?

I’m not going to say that starting this blog saved my life or anything like that. It’s not like I hit rock bottom, sucking dick for cereal on the mean streets of Humboldt Park, Chicago, wasting away to nothing while I subsisted on styrofoam packing peanuts since they were the only sustenance that my fragile, tender stomach could handle. I’m not going to say that. But I’d be telling a half-truth!

I don’t remember anymore what prompted me to buy a domain and some hosting out of nowhere in May 2021, but 43 months later (ALMOST ONE MONTH FOR EACH POUND OF WEIGHT I GAINED SINCE, APPARENTLY) here I am still plugging along on this waste of Internet space. Originally intended to be merely a music blog, it expanded rapidly into comics, movies, TV, books, and other miscellaneous nonsuch here and there. Tom Writes About Stuff was merely a hole in the ground before I spruced it up the way I wanted it, spending long evenings learning PHP and CSS in order to tweak everything to work the way I wanted it. That, in of itself, was the most fun I actually had doing something completely new in quite a long time.

What this blog has done was rekindle my love for my hobbies and discover plenty of brand new ones. Do you think I was some sort of comic book nerd before 2021? Please. How embarrassing for you to even think this.

Bottom line: In April 2021 all I wanted to do was lie down in my bed and listen to post-punk. Now I’m doing all sorts of other stuff while getting fat and listening to post-punk. Thank you, Tom Writes About Stuff!

“I can’t get up and go for a jog around the block when I have so many more Ultimate Spider-Man comics to get through.”

Medication?

Hey, morons, this right here is the obvious culprit. I’d hate to blame it all on medication, but I’ll be fudged if it wasn’t all the medication’s fault. My weight may have started levelling off in 2021, but things really started accelerating once I started a steady regimen of delicious pills back in early 2022. It has been a problem ever since.

Full disclosure since there’s no stigma to this kind of stuff anymore, and no one is reading this blog at all anyway, but my diet of pills includes Viibryd, Lamotrigine, Propranolol, and Vraylar. A cocktail that could kill a horse, but it works to help keep me from watching too many videos of people dying! Ha ha ha! ANYHOO, I’m reluctant to ever get off of any of these pills lest I start cramming myself under the kitchen sink to sob and hide from my family. I’ve brought it up to my psychiatrist many, many times about my distressing weight gain — weight gain that has become a daily preoccupation — and her advice is to either 1) visit a nutritionist, or 2) get over it, because being depressed is worse! Maybe I should find a new psychiatrist.

IN CONCLUSION

I dunno. I’m pudgy and I don’t wanna be anymore. I need to lose weight and I’ve never had a problem with it before in my adult life until now. I suppose my advice to everyone is this: don’t get old because you might get fat.

Also, buy war bonds. Those things will mature any day now.

Click here to ridicule this post!

The Dragon Reborn (Book 3) – Chapter 31: “The Woman of Tanchico”

The Woman of Tanchico is a cozy little inn. Not very many patrons, but there is fuckin’ clown dancing around the table playing a harp. Mat recognizes him as the Wheel of Time’s favorite unregistered sex offender Thom Merrilin the Glee-iest Gleeman this side of Gleemantown. Thom notices him, so Mat sits down at a table and orders two mugs wine expecting Thom to join him after he’s done harping.

Thom is drunk already and the serving girls give Mat some icy stares about ordering wine for him. Mat’s like “I DIDN’T KNOW, I DIDN’T KNOOOOOWWW!!” Thom is more of a sad-sack than Mat has ever remembered. A real sorry state of affairs. Thom blithers to the serving girls that he’s loved two women in his life: Morgase (queen) and Dena (dead), and he missed out on both. One he screwed up by making her want to kill him, and the other he accidentally got killed! Such is life, I suppose.

Mat orders a few full chickens for the two of them. Thom stares into space while Mat eats all of it himself. Then they talk: Mat thought Thom was on his way to Tear, and Thom’s like “I ‘unno”. Then Thom asks if Rand is ok, and Mat’s like “he’s alive last I checked”. Then Mat asks why Thom is in Tar Valon full of meddling, conniving Aes Sedai, and Thom deflects and mutters about Carhien instead. And the only place worse to be than Tar Valon right now is Caemlyn. Mat’s getting tired of Thom’s sad-sackery and tells him his intention to go to Caemlyn and that Thom should go with him if he’s in the mood to get himself killed or something. Thom perks up, thinks this is a dandy idea, and grabs his things.

One of the serving girls thanks Mat for perking him up, gives him a silver coin and tells him his eyes are pretty! Mat pops his trademark boner and Thom and Mat head out. Mat notices the corpse is missing from the street now. Puzzled, they make their way to the docks to take the first boat out of town.

Click here to ridicule this post!

Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1), Issue #58 – “Hollywood (Part 5)”

* Part 5 of 6 of the Hollywood storyline *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1), Issue #58 – “Hollywood (Part 5)”! In the previous installment, Doc Ock spends a lot of time talking to Peter Parker on an airplane, looking to torture him and kill him and all that, but just before the plane is cleared for landing at whatever unknown location the plane is landing in, Parker escapes out the emergency exit! D’oh! Foiled again as usual, Mr. Octopus!

Also, out of nowhere, Gwen Stacy decides to go into the basement and crack open a locked chest. It contained a full Spider-Man suit, which makes her all “My name is Gwen Stacy. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Of course, Spider-Man is preparing to die anyway because he leapt out of a plane flying at 30,000 ft with no parachute. I want the first panel of Issue #58 to be a big fucking wet SPLAT on the ground!

Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1), Issue #58 [July, 2004]
Written by: Brian Michael Bendis
“Hollywood (Part 5)”

At the International Airport in Sao Paulo, Brazil, Doc Ock’s landed plane sits on the tarmac. “I know,” Ock tells his arms. “Little Parker is out there somewhere.”

He’s got the pilot wrapped up by the throat. The pilot begs for his life, saying that he was promised freedom once they land. Ah, oho, but wait sir, you can’t go yet! There’s the issue of the Spider-Man to deal with, of course.

“He-he jumped out of a moving plane a hundred miles away,” the pilot stammers. “He’s–”

“He’s out there. Trust me,” replies Ock.

“What? He couldn’t possibly…”

“He’s out there.”

No he’s not! Spider-Man watches from inside a closet. Door cracked open a hair. Hand on his penis voyeur-style. Enjoying himself immensely. And then he makes himself seen! *Batman music plays on a pipe organ*

Spider-Man sucker punches Doc Ock, who is angry and growly. Then he sucker punches him again. This keeps happening even though Spider-Man is a spindly child and Doctor Otto Octavius is a full-grown smarty man with metal arms. One throw across the room, and Ock just lies there.

“Oh no!” Spidey protests. “No no no no! Don’t you do this to me, Otto! Don’t you beat the tar out of me… Kidnap me!! Pull out one of my teeth!! Break my Web Shooters!! And take me halfway around the frickin’ world!! And then run out of fight!!”

Spidey continues yelling at him to snap out of it! This is supposed to be the big fight scene, so fight, damnit!

And he gets his wish. Using his grabby claw-game-type digits, Ock takes Spidey by the face and throws him out of the plane. After picking himself up and dusting himself off, Spidey makes a harrowing discovery…

Oh man, oh man. Portuguese?? Am I in France??

“I am so grounded it’s not even funny,” Spider-Man moans. The ground crew tries to attack Ock, who is busy shielding his sensitive eyes from all the lights and yelling for everyone to get away. Spidey takes this opportunity to pummel Ock’s face a bit and knock him unconscious, and he doesn’t even get time to congratulate himself for a job well done because the Brazilian military gets on his ass! All pointing their shooty guns at him. All saying stuff like “todo mundo para”, which I believe is Portuguese for “I’ll have what she’s having.” Ha! I’m so funny.

Spidey begs everyone to speak English while they close in on him. Pants completely soaked with diarrhea, Spidey says right then and there that he’s just going to start crying everywhere. Hella crying. You’ve never seen such crying.

“Are you really the American Spider-Man?” asks a gun woman dressed as a gun agent, holding a gun. Spidey thanks God and Jesus and Nice-Hitler for this good fortune of an English-speaking hot woman. He starts blabbing about how Doctor Octopus over there *points* kidnapped him and flew him over to what he hopes is Sioux Falls, South Dakota. But no such luck. “You, sir, are in Brazil,” says the policewoman agent, whatever. Spidey can’t believe his tingling Spidey-Sense! Brazil! That’s where all the Brazilian ladies are! Woo hoo!

Shit, and I just had Hormel Chili. With beans!

But no, he feels ten kinds of fucked. The pilot corroborates Spidey’s story that he was kidnapped by a man who is not any sort of parental guardian and flown to, what was it again, Brazil? Eep! Well, the good news is that there’s a pilot here and he can fly a plane back to New York, so–

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re going to have to bring the two of you in for questioning,” says the police agent. Spidey politely declines, but this is not negotiable, damnit! So what does Spidey do instead of acquiesce? He does some of those trademark cartwheels about town and lands on the plane. Before anyone can say “boo” (and why would they?), the plane takes off. Spidey finds himself in the cargo hold, which is better than Brazil by a long shot (except for the Brazilian ladies).

Half an hour later, Spider-Man is freezing his tiny, little testicles off. He’s only wearing tights and he’s going to die unless he finds something useful in all the luggage that just happens to be in the plane. He finds six sweaters and some Hello Kitty earmuffs. He puts them all on over his costume.

Soon, he lands and hopes that he’s not in Papua New Guinea or Jersey City or somewhere equally horrible…

It’s Atlanta. Spidey breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “At least they speak some kind of English in Atlanta.” But what he needs is a transfer to fuckin’ New York. Or Newark. Or some other city with a name that sounds vaguely similar to one another.

Say hi to Tom Scharpling for me!

He finds a giant box heading to Newark, so he slips in somehow and gets transferred to another plane. This little adventure is probably going to make up the rest of the issue, so pace yourselves, friends. Eventually, dressed to the nines as a crazy person, he pops out of his crate and leaps his way around the airport. This causes a problem the likes of which haven’t been seen since the day before 9/12!

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are having a security situation and are forced to shut down this section of the terminal.” And wouldn’t you know it? Aunt May is currently exiting the jetway in front of his cavorting, costumed nephew! “What people will do for attention…” she says, shaking her damn head.

“Been thinking about it,” Spider-Man thinks as he rides the top of a bus headed for New York City. “I bet when I write my autobiography – I bet I skip over just about all of this.”

And, in true Ferris Bueller fashion, Spidey attempts to race back home before Aunt May does. He wonders what May is doing back from Florida already? Perhaps Ron Desantis outlawed looking fabulous? At any rate, Spidey makes it home first and heads to the basement.

“I mean, as horrible as tonight was, the bad guy is down, justice is served, I’m home.

Except he comes home to this, lmao

Put your hands up and give me all your money, see? It’s curtains for you, see?

Final Thoughts

BLOW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF, GWEN! And then when you’re done with that, should shoot him! Get it?!

Parker’s in a bind. He’s going to have to murder Gwen Stacy to keep this gig going, and once Spidey starts murdering he can’t stop! I’m pretty sure that’s canon.

Click here to ridicule this post!

Jane’s Journey, Chapter 6 – The Missing Healer

Jump to page: 1 2

In Ironsworn, you are a hero sworn to undertake perilous quests in the dark fantasy setting of the Ironlands. You will explore untracked wilds, fight desperate battles, forge bonds with isolated communities, and reveal the secrets of this harsh land. Most importantly, you will swear iron vows and see them fulfilled—no matter the cost.

My trip back from Winterwood to Wolfspire was much more treacherous and plagued with bad luck than my initial trip. It started off promising; I was able to forage for more food and pitch a tent for a few hours before I started proper — I didn’t try to enter the inn again, I doubted the innkeeper would have allowed me another long night of screaming about bloody High Priests — but my plans turned upside down fairly quickly. I encountered heavy rain within half an hour of my trip and I was already too far from Winterwood to huddle under a roof to keep dry.

Much like my first trip, I encountered two wolves. The first was hurt and easy to kill with quick bow work. I was impressing myself with my shrewdness with the weapon, but I got too full of myself. The second wolf almost killed me. I suffered a few grazes on my legs, half a sackfull of destroyed supplies (save for the draught, miraculously), and constant setbacks and lost initiative. At one point the beast pinned me down. Growling with a mouth dripping saliva, I slowly reached for my knife and dug the blade into its belly. A loosed arrow into its side and another twist of the knife and the wolf was done. Half my poultices were spilled onto the ground and three of my five waterskins were torn. I collected what I had left, tended to my wounds with what little medicine was left in my bottles, and tried to make camp with little to no comfort. I was left completely exhausted and barely able to press on, but press on I did or else another wolf would ambush me and tear me to shreds.

I was delayed by at least two hours. When I finally returned to Wolfspire late into the night I discovered the gates closed with the wardens nowhere in sight. Surely they went off somewhere to get dizzy with drink and passed out away from their post. Flushed with anger and discouraged by the indignity, I made camp outside the gates and spent the rest of the night in discomfort away from my own bed. Sleep didn’t come.

✳ ✳ ✳

“Oi! Vagabond! This is no place to be passed out like a drunkard! If you can’t afford the inn I can point you in the direction of a mud-strewn hovel in the middle of the swamp not ten minutes from town, you miserable, unsettled vagrant!”

I was getting poked a with damned sword at this juncture. I was so irate that I could have ripped this warden’s head off. “Are you fucking mad??” I yelled, turning over in my bedroll. The warden was taken aback, white as a sheet. “Lady Jane?” he stammered in disbelief. “Excuse me, m’lady, but what in the Ironlands are you doing out here?”

I didn’t think this asinine question deserved an answer. “Open the gates now, or I’ll see to it that Chief Hannion strips you of your sword and armor and throws you into the jails for the rest of your natural life! You have no notion of how absolutely beside myself with anger I am right now. Move!”

The warden fumbled with his key and unlocked the gates. “My sincerest apologies, m’lady. Had I known… er, that is to say, we were ambushed by a pack of wild wolves and had to fend them off away from the gates! I swear an iron vow on my late mother’s grave, m’lady! Please to understand, we were only protecting the village!”

I didn’t deign to argue. I was too worn out to bother talking to this fool one more minute. “Spare me excuses. I care not about your nightly proclivities. I wish to return to my comfortable home with my warm bed. Good day, sirs.”

Upon entering my chamber, I tossed my sack, my bow, and my quiver in the corner and fell into my bed. After more melting altars and glowing pillars, I awoke at midday surprising refreshed. I supposed even horrible dreams could not stop my rest from being restorative after such a perilous evening. Like a firework going off in my mind, I snapped to attention and grabbed the draught – still wrapped in cloth – out of my sack to check to see if it was all still in one piece. I placed it back in my sack and took careful steps as I walked down the corridors. What misfortune it would be to trip and break the bottle on my way to Hirsham’s chamber. I would never forgive myself for breaking the iron vow in such a fool-minded manner.

I encountered an issue. Hirsham wasn’t in his chamber. The few bed-ridden Sickness patients were still lying barely conscious, but something felt sorely amiss. Had I known how to administer the draught to the patients I would have taken care of it forthwith, but I didn’t dare. I placed the bottle on one of Hirsham’s tables and left the chamber. This is when I was approached by Donnell, an aide of Chief Hannion. “Lady Jane! Oh, it’s awful! Hirsham has been taken out of the castle by a man named Tahir!”

My head started spinning. What was he talking about, taken? “Hirsham’s gone?” I asked stupidly. Yes, Jane, he’s gone. You’ve seen this clearly. “Who is Tahir?”

“I know nothing of Tahir. I saw the man talking to Davon but two days ago. I am trying to find him, too, but with no success.” He sized me up and down. “Gracious, Lady Jane, you look worse for wear! You appear to have seeping wounds! What horrors have you encountered on your journey?”

I looked at my legs and arms; they looked awful. And without Hirsham I could not tend to them properly. “I need to find Hirsham without haste! Please do not distract me! Tell me what you know!”

Davon ran up the corridor. “Lady Jane, Hirsham was assuredly taken to nearby Foxhovel! Tahir masqueraded over the last two days as Hirsham’s new apprentice, and… well, I suppose Hirsham did act a bit oddly, but—”

“Foxhovel? To the southeast??” I grabbed my sack and scoured the tables for potions and medicines I recognized. “I’m not going to wait here another second!” I scooped up a few bottles and bags of herbs and liquids that would help my bites and scrapes and shoved them into my sack. “I am going back to my quarters to secure my bow and quiver and I’m making headway to Foxhovel now.”

Donnell and Davon tried to stop me, but I made a royal order for them to step out of my way. Before long, I was all but running to the southeast gates and started on the path to Foxhovel.

Click here for all the boring game-related notes! On second thought, don’t bother!

Jump to page: 1 2

Click here to ridicule this post!

The Dragon Reborn (Book 3) – Chapter 30: “The First Toss”

Mat hoards cheese, bread, and fruit in order to prepare for his trip to Caemlyn. Mat tells Anaiya Sedai that he wants to check out the city, but Anaiya tells him good luck getting past the guards, bozo. Mat packs up, pretends he’s trying to leave to see the city, and then leaves to see the city! He wants to hit up a few inns by the harbor to make some coin and chat with the local folk besides. He plans to only play for an hour… until he wins every single toss of the dice. Impossibly. Lucky lucky.

He traps himself in a fevered frenzy, playing for hours and stuffing his pockets making sure not to piss off the wrong person. In one inn, when he throws six kings in a row, a large man calls it the “Dark One’s luck”. This pisses Mat off to no end! He slams the man against the wall and is like “I ain’t no Darkfriend, girl”. He draws a lot of unwanted attention like he always fucking does. Mat’s a spaz.

Mat leaves and tries to figure out his situation. He’s been really lucky ever since he stole that dagger! Funny coincidence, eh? Maybe it’s just some Aes Sedai trick. Who knows? The important thing is that someone might be following him and he needs to get away before his legs get broken. He hides in an alley from two men who think they lost him, and they turn around. While Mat decides to leap around the rooftops like Batman, a man OUT OF NOWHERE tries to stab him in the throat. Not today! After a struggle, Mat trips the guy and they both fall down to the street. Mat lands on top of him, cushioning his fall, and discovers the knife through his chest. Lucked out again! But this guy, this guy… he came out of nowhere. And he looks so nondescript… almost soulless…

OH WELL! Deciding that Mat doesn’t want to stick around too close to a corpse in the middle of the street, Mat ducks around until he finds an inn called “The Woman of Tanchico”.

THAT’S THE NAME OF THE NEXT CHAPTER, YOU GUYS. I hope the woman is hot.

Click here to ridicule this post!

Cereal Addiction?

This Blog?

Medication?

IN CONCLUSION

Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1), Issue #58 [July, 2004] Written by: Brian Michael Bendis “Hollywood (Part 5)”

Final Thoughts

Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1), Issue #58 [July, 2004]
Written by: Brian Michael Bendis
“Hollywood (Part 5)”