You're addicted to grub...

Food, like crack cocaine, is addictive.

I say this from first hand experience. I am not overweight because of a genetic disposition or a poor metabolism. I am not overweight due to a sedentary lifestyle or poor self-esteem. I am not even overweight because of global warming. I’m overweight because I eat too much.

If you put a plate of chips in front of me, and an ounce of heroin in front of Pete Docherty, the result would be somewhat similar, except Pete would probably know when to stop. If you give me food I will eat it until my belly fills, my heart panics, and people begin to ask me if I’m pregnant.

The other difference between myself and a heroin addict is that the junkie, a drain on society, gets free health care, free counseling, free morphine injections and a free appearance on Trisha when he is a ‘reformed sinner.’

The fat person on the other hand, who drive our economy with their purchases of custard doughnuts and Garfield Comics, get ridiculed, teased and a lifetime membership to Weight Watchers.

Something must be done to readdress the balance. So as it seems that only bad people get help for free, is the change the publics image of food addicts. I will have to beat BMI the bad boy way.

Locking myself away, I’ll gorge on takeaway and watch day time TV. This is pretty much what I do now anyway. But as my funds are swallowed up, and I can no longer fit in my work clothes, I’ll need alternative ways to fund my habit.

You’ll see me raiding the Post-Office on pension day, forcing old ladies to give me their snacks and sweets. Their pension money, will be exchanged for food at a ‘shady’ corner shop after sun-down.

The paranoia will build. I’ll hoard food in my bedroom, liquefying and injecting it directly into my upper bowel for an instant hit. In desperation I’ll lie outside Burger King, rummaging through the bins, threatening to sit on people unless they give me their take-away.

Before each meal I’ll snort salt, rub pepper into my gums, inject vinegar into my veins and smoke a rolled up sachet of tomato ketchup, then shovel the food quickly into my pre-condimented body.

And finally, in desperation when no other source of food can be found to satisfy me, I will grind up my leftovers, mix them with talcum powder and sell them by the ounce at a massive profit.

And then, after selling my soul, gaining 10 stone and earning an eternity in hell, the police will arrest me. In a court appeal I’ll be psycho-analysed and put back on the street with free counseling, free medical support, and free samples of slim-fast!

Fat is back. Viva la Revolution.