Death to Esteban!?

Your first question should be, “Who is Esteban?” shortly followed up with “Why would anyone want to kill him?” Well, I have the answers to all your questions but before I begin let me give you a brief summary of how Esteban came into this world.

Ever since I can remember I have been average sized. Dating back to my middle school years I remember never really sticking out as far as my weight was concerned. One day back in the late 90's as I was on my way home from our completely awesome under 21 dance club (Club Zoo) I realized that I had something rather large and uncomfortable hanging from the place where my stomach used to be. (At that current time I was drunk but it was off of parent’s liquor.) I had yet to even drink any beer in my life but yet I was already developing my signature trademark.

Now here I am, probably 9 years since I had my first taste of that intoxicating brew. Something inside of me has grown into quite a monster whose name is Esteban. He has quadrupled in size since I first started drinking and it doesn't look like there is an end in site. Some days after a few cold ones I look down and realize my feet have been swallowed by the black hole of belly fat. As I have mentioned in previous posts I try and go to the gym on a normal basis but results do not ensue. I experience chronic back pain, I haven’t seen my dick in years, I think Esteban cheated on me (he know appears to be pregnant himself). My stomach is on pace to have its own gravitational pull, as there are times I find myself being sucked into a Burger King or Wendy’s like a giant magnet. These are all part of the reason why Esteban must die.

I figure there are a few different strategies directed towards his ultimate demise. I could eat healthy (watching my portions), drink only water and exercise regularly. I could also move to Ethiopia and be one with the Pygmies; chances are they would eat me alive before I got off the plane (but the good news would be I’d probably save the entire country) Another option would be to quit eating altogether; that would ultimately be the end of fast food establishments as we all have come to love today. I would put them all out of business if I quit eating there. (Except McDonalds, Ronald is actually one of Satan’s children – look closely at him next chance you get). My last option, and probably the most reasonable include heavy tranquilizers, a sharp and pointed bladed object, a suction cup and a vacuum. (It would be best to get me after a long day/night of boozing. That is when Esteban is at his peak)

So there you have it, Esteban has got to go, I don’t care where or with who, but somebody needs to take him off my hands, or stomach for that matter.