Yes, Jorge, I am indeed shackled by the bonds of matrimony or somesuch. Turns out it went pretty well, aside from a couple of quick blunders:
- I am a friggin’ moron. And I quote: “With this wing. . .” I mean, seriously. What the hell?
- Your younger second cousins will untie the strings holding the rings on the pillows.
So other than that, everything was pretty wonderful. Sara looked amazing, and fat men are meant to wear tuxedos, so I was in good shape. Pictures are here. Speaking of…
Step Away From The Buffet, Chowzilla
Sara and I spent our honeymoon week in the Bahamas, at the Atlantis resort. It was friggin’ amazing, and well worth the exorbitant sum that we wheedled out of my parents for the trip.
The main thing I noticed is the buffet culture there - don’t get me wrong, I’m a fat guy. But in my defense (shut up, philmes) it’s fat brought on by being huge and muscular and then getting a desk job and letting it all go to shit. Muscle turns into fat faster than women turn lesbian around schweeb. But I digress - the point is that the meal plan we were on was called the “modified American” and consisted of all the buffet/deli places at the resort. Three large buffets, one sports bar/grill deal, and a couple of ala carte places. All amazing, but a little disturbing.
Now, I can’t preach, really. I’m heavy set and I love my food. Willpower? hahaha. But some of the land-whales I saw gorging themselves on slabs of stewed pork and waffles coated in bacon were amazing. I don’t mean to be cruel, but when even I’m thinking Jesus Christ, chowmonster, put down the sausage links and walk back to your room about three hundred times, you have a PROBLEM.
I think I’m going to go eat something whole wheat and do about a million pushups just to try to get myself on a different level than the gasping lard-monsters I saw in those buffets. Christ.
