Let's get personal

I know a lot—ok, everything I say usually is all fun and games. But now I’m crying inside and I’d like to let it out. I have this thing, um, how do I say it? Fine, I’ll just say it: I have this disorder, OCB. Now, don’t grab the Kleenex box just yet. First off I won’t die, that’s if I am able to get treatment. OCB is a relatively new disease so there’s not much for doctors and researchers to go off of. At least it’s fixable, they tell me, but it takes a lot of will power to overcome said the doctor. I hate doctors but that’s beside the point: I need help.

OCB will soon spread and afflict all my appendages and constrict my daily life. Usually it disperses to the internal organs and surrounding torso tissue. The intirena epidermal, or the inner lining of the abdomen, is extremely vulnerable. Once it gets there, time is of the essence. OCB can also clog arteries in its wake, although this downside takes years of neglect to rear its ugly head. Other common symptoms are: swollen ankles, cankles (when swollen ankles are not treated), hot dog neck (aka Timbaland neck), lumberjack/sausage link fingers, fat lips and fatter gums that obstruct your speech (see B.I.G.)—on a side note: B.I.G., the rapper, actually suffered from OCB and honestly he was lucky he was shot, OCB would have soon swallowed him whole—inverted thighs that make you waddle like a penguin, wavy arm syndrome, hoola hoop shape, severe panting and exhaustion when sitting down, binging when there’s a smorgasbord, cottage cheese hamstrings, powerful and cavernous inner butt muscles that make for thunderous expulsions of excrement. Trust me, there’s more but I’m not in a mood to go on.

It’s time for my Kleenex. Damnit sperm, stop using up all the Kleenex! There there now. Some of you may think OCB is a joke. It’s far from it. Then, what is it? It’s Old Country Buffet syndrome. It’s the extreme overuse or over indulgence to stuff your face at the sight of food. A hint of momma’s gravy (OCB’s momma bka that dude in the kitchen, who dons the obligatory hair net even though he’s bald who throws a jar o’ this and a can o’ that and stirs it together to serve lukewarm) and you’re on top of it, gyrating your hips in the watermelon J-E-LL-O, slurping the Jamoca-esque shake (psst: I know a Jamoca is only at Arbys but OCB has one that’s even better) and maneuvering your fingers through the corn beef hash. Oh, corn beeeeef hassssh! Where do you, where do you, where you do go, corn beef hash!

I am addicted to OCB and it is ruining my life. I can’t shy away from it. I mean I’m at OCB every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Check out Tuesdays. No, no, be wary of Tuesdays at OCB, it is Taco Tuesdays. They have piñatas, tacos of course, little Chihuahuas and hell, even the Mexican bus boys come out and wash the tables with a carmel, cinnamony chlorine scent, que bueno! They’ve got pop you can have for $1.95 with free refills and I must have at least like, I don’t know, a liter of pop! And it isn’t Coke or Pepsi or even RC Cola, I think it might be a grade lower than Super Chill’s cola and Shasta’s cola but it tastes sooo good. Then there are the buffalo wings. I so told my little niece that buffalo wings are actually bison wings and she spit it out all over the table. That was funny. Oh, the moments you have at OCB while you’re on OCB. See with OCB, you cannot always think straight; you’re mind is always on food. I love putting sprinkles, from the sundae bar, on my mashed taters and then spooning in gravy and tossing spaghetti with some Chinese stir fry and then grossing everyone out and making side bets with my friends on how much I’d eat and then taking that dare and after one bite spitting it out onto the plate and leaving the plate to be picked up and tossed by the wait staff. “I need a rubbery Salisbury steak with the spray can grill marks asap!” I tell the staff as soon as I come in and they promptly respond by calling me, “Mr. Johnson” and “Right away sir.” I don’t know what it is about having the freedom to have a taco with roast chicken and fries doused with ketchup but it is a mighty great feeling.

As always though, OCB creeps up on you. I know I just ate my ass out. Ooops, wrong words. Um, damnit, I lost my train of thought. See that’s what OCB does to you, it rocks you into this state of utter confusion. And all that’s on your mind is food. Like right now, I’m contemplating how I could economize my platage at OCB. So today I went up to the buffet 6 different occasions. I could go up only 3 times. That means more time to eat and fewer calories to waste. Now how do I do that? I’m pretty good at stacking but I’ve got to get my foods separated. I do not prefer to let the juice from a stroganoff to run and fuse with my pork chop—it doesn’t taste great. Hey! I eat it though; look at how many starving kids there are in the world, it’d be a shame to waste it. I live by my motto: Leave No Morsel Behind. Semper Fat.

I may not be on this earth next week; that’s the ambiguous OCB pulling my heart’s strings. Literally! But I must say, while being diagnosed with OCB months ago, I still do everything I used to: nothing. I am a proud role model for OCB. Those that need a voice, I am there to hear your concerns… while I eat this pot pie. And to those who turn to throwing up and losing weight and dieting and exercising and becoming a budding bulimic ! I just gave you the finger. “You down with OCB? Yeah you know me!”