A few years ago my buddy Mike, upon becomming engaged, decided to bulk up for the Big Event. Not by lifting weights, but by lifting beers. And anything else that wouldn’t stretch his esophogus to the tearing point.
Maybe he was trying to see if his betrothed really loved the INNER him, and not just his $8/hour Radio Shack assistant manager’s salary. Whatever the motive, he was successful. Between his initial tux fitting and the wedding day he had to have his suit pants let out three times. His neck was thicker than my thigh. (Mike and Spouse are also devoutly religous, although I try not to hold it against them.)
For a wedding present, rather than cash (which would only be sunk into canolli, I’m sure), I penned this heartfelt opus and had it nicely framed.
(I wrote this in his bride’s voice):
My Biggest Love
Would Gluttony were no great sin!
So plaudits heaped upon the thin
Could stretch beyond their sallow skin.
And Heaven’s gate could open wide
To carry you, my Love, inside.
But rules He made we’re bound to keep,
So next to you I vow I’ll sleep.
‘Tho it worries me that as your wife
I’ll have to use the Jaws of Life
To extricate you from your Jeep.
Some say your life will end in fire,
Some say ice.
From what I’ve seen of your desire
For tacos heaped as if a pyre
Tall as any steeple spire,
I side with those who favor fire.
But then I think of how you drink
Milkshakes seeming from a sink.
You’ve never, ever skipped a slice
Of some dessert you thought was nice
(or even had to be asked twice).
So now I side with those who argue ice,
As arteries do also close from sweets
And will suffice.
To show you the mettle he’s made of, Mike now has it hanging in a prominent spot in his broom closet. He’s still fat.