I'm not dead yet.
Got up at 5am. Been getting up at 5am a lot. Could be the diet. Could be that my house is buried over an ancient Indian burial ground and the ghosts of the massacred dead are waking me to kill my family.
I think it is the former, though I am a bit confused about why I wake up clutching a fire ax.
I began the day with a 22oz Lindeman's Kriek Lambic. Lots of cherry goodness. I managed to stick my tongue three inches into the bottleneck to get out some of the residue, which should qualify me for porn star status in productions directed by women.
Are there any porn productions directed by women? That would be hot.
Then I went to my DC, who got my blood test results.
Nothing too horrible. My uric acid is high. My iron is high. My cholesterol went up to 153.
After working out for a solid 45 minutes and telling my trainer I'd rather tweeze my entire scrotum than finish the workout (and that's quite a job--it looks like my boys are wearing a wig), I went to see her mentor, a personal trainer and nutritionist, who spent twenty minutes telling me in excruciating detail what a terrible idea this diet is and why I'm probably the biggest moron on the planet for even attempting something so stupid. He was smart, articulate, and made perfect sense, which makes me regret not talking to him 11 days ago.
Also, he never really called me a moron. He was extremely congenial and polite and helpful and totally cool. That naturally made me want to crawl into a corner and bawl my eyes out, which I couldn't do because of the omnipresent dehydration.
Or maybe that's just the muscle atrophy talking.
He also advised against switching the diet from beer to cocaine, to my dismay.
Then I went home and quickly had a Leinenkugel Big Eddy Russian Imperial Stout (9% abv) and a 2010 Founder's Nemesis Barelywine (12% abv) and felt a whole lot better for some reason.
Right now, I'm blogging. Which you should have guessed, because you're reading this.
I weigh 248. I've lost 15 pounds, but that probably has been water, bone, muscle, and brain cells. As soon as I eat a Saltine I'll gain it all back, plus ten more pounds, immediately. Then every kitty on the planet will explode.
Note to self: stop talking to people who know this diet is a bad idea.
For the remainder of the evening, I'm going to make sweet love to the wife. Then I'll wake her up and we'll watch a movie.
I'm shooting hours of irreverent, and sometimes reverent, video, and I'm looking for a professional editor. If anyone reading this is a professional video editor, or knows one, get in touch with me. Extra consideration given if by using pure editing skill they can make me look like Brad Pitt.
Thanks to all reading for following my progress so far.
Stool report: Like a fart, but wetter and browner.