Dear The Slim Fast,
I bought a range of your thin quick products about three months ago and until last week this would have been a compliment letter. However, after the events I’ve suffered there’s fat chance of that.
I’ve always been a supermensch, oversized in comparison to the dregs of humanity that surround me. Unfortunately being larger than life spiritually also seems to mean being larger than lithe physically too.
As such, despite 26 years of being able to dominate rooms I’m fed up of the upshot of dominating the pie shop too.
I’m not a fan of taking half-measures (hence my current predicament) and so after an incident involving my posterior and a neighbours missing cat I decided I had to do something about my situation. I hurriedly waddled down to the local shops and bought a gargantuan bundle of skinny speedy products. Once I returned I found an old sports bag, blew the dust off it and emptied the contents of my fridge, freezer and secret ottoman stash into it.
I refilled the cupboards with your brightly coloured plastic packaging, feeling elated that I was about to start a new chapter in my life. I also felt sleepy. As such I decided to hit the hay (the mattress was too small) and start my new life at breakfast.
As the heavy sun struggled upwards, so did I. I trudged into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. The flat was filled with an unsavoury blend of confusion and horror as I screamed. My traditional packet of Mr. Wobble Buckets fry-up-in-a-bag was missing. Instead it had been replaced with something pink and gelatinous.
Eventually the shock subsided and I remembered I was the one who had replaced my fridge’s contents (I’m not a morning person to be honest). Sighing as the excitement from the day before had clearly faded over the night, I pulled the milkshake out, shook it, obviously, and took a cautious sip.
Suddenly being fat didn’t seem like such a problem.
However, my will power was strong and I continued to force the viscous fluid down my fizzog. The physical effort of finishing the shake off felt like I had just completed a marathon using nothing but my arse cheeks. I felt knackered but good, in my mind I could already feel the fat sloughing off me.
As my breakfast was over in twenty seconds rather the usual twenty minutes I had some free time before going to work, so I decided I better check the official slender rapid website. I read over the rules and procedures for the diet plan along with the suggested ancillary products I might need to help gain (or ungain I suppose) my preferable body image. I spent a sizable amount of time studying the information, then I snorted at the screen, slammed the laptop shut and cracked open another shake.
I continued to use your products religiously for about five months, giving up all solid foods (and on a side note, solid bowel movements) and doing nothing but working and drinking your jellified cow juice.
It took a while, but I started to see improvements to my physique. Belt buckles fastened to the factory holes rather than my homemade ones, my feet reappeared and on a few embarrassing occasion shirts fell off me as my trim figure slipped through the neck holes.
I was feeling happy and fulfilled, I was a new me. Unfortunately my boss, Mr. Odersky decided one day to warn me about your milkshakes, and that’s when things started to take a bad turn. Mr. Odersky informed me that the weight loss would stop or even reverse if I went back to normal dietary plans.
That concept terrified me and as such I continued to use the stuff, panicking each morning as I stood in front of the mirror, judging my gut and myself. I even started to use more as Mr. Odersky told me weight loss slows down at a certain point and it becomes harder to slug the stones off.
It was last week that I finally had an epiphany, all thanks to a customer I was serving. I was in my tollbooth, fresh faced and about to start my shift. A somewhat squashed and mangled looking Peugeot 106 rattled up to my little window. I asked the driver for his money and he suddenly squealed. I won’t repeat the exact words he used as they were quite rude, but it was along the lines of “Where in the bedevilled world did that ethereal voice come from?”
Confused, I turned to look at him, which only made the mans squeals increase in pitch. With unfathomable fear and shock in his eyes he booted the throttle and sped past the booth, decimating the gate arm as he shot away into the morning.
Please respond in due course.