Fanny is the demonic fat girl who lives inside me. She used to live inside my friend Lynne, but she got bored and migrated to me. She’s been with me for about 6 weeks now and the bitch made me gain 4lbs.
This is a picture of Fanny and Lynne together this past Halloween. Fanny isn’t wearing a costume.
She makes me do bad things. She hates it when I do yoga, pilates, or yogilates. Exercise of any kind angers her and she punishes me by making me eat chocolates. She fucking hates salad. She makes me eat cake instead. Whenever I eat my Kashi fiber cereal, she forces me to put sugar on it. I’d go on, but you get the idea. She’s the epitome of evil.
Christmas is Fanny’s favorite time of year. Right now the break room table at work contains an enormous array of treats falling under the following categories: salty shit, nutty shit, dried shit, shit covered in chocolate, dried shit covered in chocolate, shit in the form of logs and balls, shit with cheese, shit that thinks it’s cheese but isn’t, and shit with Rachel Ray’s picture on the box. Fanny loves it all and laughs her diabolical laugh every time I go near that room of horrors.
I need an exorcist or something. I tried calling The Ghost Whisperer, but then I saw on Entertainment Tonight that Jennifer Love Hewitt is having her own big butt issues. I don’t think she’ll be returning my call. And Buffy is retired…
Any suggestions as to how I can fix my little situation would be appreciated. In the meantime, as a temporary solution, every time I think about going into the break room I’m going to bash myself in the face with the nearest heavy object.