Never again, I think. Never, will I shove so much fatty nastiness down my craw again, as I stare disgustingly at the strewn out remains of my dinner. Like dead soldiers they lay there, the cheese burger wrappers, an empty fry carton, and a dry 32 oz cup of what once contained soda. They are casualties of the great battle for which I have both won and now lost - Won because I ate it all. Lost because well... I ate it all.

We all know that eating fast food is like climbing into a dumpster and eating trash like the neighborhood raccoon. But, just like ol' Rascal every night I'm back at it again. Chili cheese burritos from T. Bell, dollar menu double cheese burgers from Mickey D's, the four piece meal from the Colonel, man I do have my cravings. And with my cravings usually follows my regrets, always in that particular order.

Every single time I eat that trash, I always feel exactly like that in the aftermath. But like some dumb bird that keeps flying into the same sliding-glass door over and over again I keep coming back for more. See, I'm not just ordering up a super-sized combo meal, I'm also getting myself a hearty helping of bloating, gas, upset stomach, diarrhea, oh, and before you find yourself singing "Hey Pepto-Bismol!" might I add - a poor case of self-esteem to boot.

Now, let me get something out in the open here - I'm a pretty straight arrow. I've never done recreational drugs, or smoked, and I rarely drink. But oh baby, get me fries, maybe some Chinese food, and throw in one of the Brooklyn style pizzas from Dominos and I should be locked-up in junk-food rehab faster than Britney Spears should be sent to JC Penney for under-garments and maybe a pair of pants.

I absolutely crave foods that contain enough grease to get my car by in-between the 7,000 miles I go between oil changes. Yep, when I go in to have blood drawn to check my cholesterol they may as well give me the Grease Monkey treatment by hovering me over some pit and draining my Crisco flavored blood out into an environmentally friendly solid waste container. I'm guessing then, when my doctor actually tests my blood in one of those test-tube vile things, with all its' lipidy goodness floating around, it shouldn't look too much unlike a lava lamp. This of course will be followed by a stern lecture on the importance of a balanced diet combined with exercise. After which, I will attempt a life style change which will only last up until the following Broncos Sunday when I will find myself instinctually dialing #4 on my speed dial*.

*Note: #4 on my speed dial is a direct number to the fine folks at Pizza Hut.

MMMMM! Speaking of which... What the hell's for dinner tonight?