Holiday Detox Routine

Chances are you managed to mask your Thanksgiving indulgences by maintaining a solid “I don’t give a fuck” wine buzz for the rest of the weekend. NEWSFLASH: It is a week later, fucks should now be given.

Look at yourself in the mirror, you dirty fat slob. Do you like what you see? Didn't think so. Guess what? The general population doesn't like what they see either. Clean it up.

Did you really need that second helping of sausage stuffing and m(ASS)h potatoes?

Trust me when I tell you, you look as sloppy and swollen as you feel. Luckily, I am here to hold your hand through the dreaded holiday aftermath.

Slap yourself in the face. One slap per slice of pie you ate. Are you still slapping? Disgusting.

Stop making excuses. You are not bloated. This is not water weight honey, unless of course you drank the Atlantic Ocean last night.

Take a laxative. You need to cleanse your conscience, memory and intestines of the caloric sins you committed.

Utilize the “Freezer of Shame”. Leave no leftover behind. This gives you a solid 5 minutes of de-thawing to think about what a repulsive sack of shit you have become.

Hydrate. Water, water, water. Lay off the alcohol for a few days. You need to replenish your body with a fluid that doesn’t make you strip down to your skivvies and puke on grandmas front lawn (note: if this actually happened to you over the holidays, I’m not even mad; I’m impressed—send pictures immediately).

Set your alarm. Your ass needs a two-a-day workout routine to be fit enough to go back to the gym.  Yes, you are too fat to go to the gym. I don’t care what LA Fitness told you, the gym is a JUDGEMENT ZONE. Ninety pound “Tonya” will be there, walking at 3.0 on the treadmill, wearing her hot pink sports bra, hair down, make up perfectly applied, never breaking a sweat.  Do you really want to compete with that, three rounds of string bean casserole in? Save yourself the embarrassment. The gym is not yet ready for that jelly.

Dress appropriately. Your shape has changed, your clothes should too. If you weren’t conceived in an oven… a muffin top is unacceptable.

Stay strong. You have one month until Christmas <or insert holiday of choice because this blog is politically correct ‘n shit>.  Don’t let the advertisements fool you Santa’s chubby ass is not jolly, he’s washing his cookies and milk down with Xanax while crying himself to sleep.

Mrs. Claus will only have sex with me with the lights off.