Sunday 21 December 2008

Traffic jam poem no. 5 (aka boiling the plum pudding poem with apologies to Banjo)

There is movement at the waistline for the lard is going round encasing every vital aspect of the girth. A chocolate here, a cup cake there, a simple honey sandwich and the ballooning, billowing blubber's given birth.

The chins look down in horror and the girls are far from pleased that this flab is taking residence down below. The hips shake in fear as does the wobbly rear; what happens if we really start to stow?

Only one thing for it then: a calorie controlled regime, to stop this bulge, this making of a beast. Don't you mean a regimen? And don't forget it's Christmas. It's the season for a celebration feast.

The consumption of the proteins, carbohydrates and the fats can absolutely not go on this way. Therefore and hence a diet starts with salad, beans and tofu and there's exercise on every single day.

Much running, rowing, biking and some weights to tone the build should halt that creeping number on the scale. This challenge must be met or else one's future's set to total transmutation into whale.

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