I Want My Fucking Gluten!

Okay, listen up. Here’s a reality check for you. We’ve been eating stuff that’s filled with gluten, fat, preservatives, additives, carbs, trans fats, non-trans fats, sterols and cholesterols–both good and bad (you’ve got the up side, I’ve got the down side–there’s two sides to every cholesterol), full-cal, lo-cal, no-cal, so-cal.

I don’t suck down vitamins, I don’t give a shit about anti-oxidants (what’s the opposite of those? Pro-oxidants?), and I piss on organic food to make it taste right. I don’t wash my fruit (you think a quick rinse is going to get rid of the months of pesticides?). Light sour cream is a shadow of the real thing, but I can’t tell the difference with light cream cheese.
I eat fake sugars, real sugars, caffiene, carbs, red meat, white meat, yellow meat. And all of it in as much quantity as is socially acceptable. Don’t get in my way at a buffet. MSG induces a wonderful euphoria in me.  I eat stuff off the floor all the time, and when anyone I’m at a restaurant doesn’t finish their plate, I look at them with disdain.  Unless they offer it to me.

I’m 28, am six feet tall, and weigh two hundred pounds. My last check-up was at 25, when my doctor said “Don’t come back till you’re 30”.

This may not apply to you. Everything is half genetics and half fate. I’m pretty lucky in the metabolism department, but there’s no reason why that won’t bite me in the ass later. But should it stop me from enjoying some BBQ ribs now?

So guess what. No matter how gluten-free you are, it’s not going to stop that car from hitting you.