Monday, December 21, 2009

Wally's weight loss system

I'm in a heap of trouble and I haven't even done anything. Wally just left. My house is in turmoil. And She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed is somewhat frosty. It'll be a cold night in Broken Elbow.

Wally breezed in about half an hour ago. He still hasn't replaced his bike because we haven't made a shopping trip to the various bike shops yet. I think he's working on disguises because he's well known at some of them. It's a long story for another time. He's been reduced to getting around on foot.

Like I said, he just walked in the door and announced the latest in a series of hare-brained schemes. As usual, he wanted my help, but this time I simply can't do it. Oh, I'd like to because the research would be fascinating, but it could lead to an early demise.

Put simply, Wally wants to open a weight loss clinic. Seriously, a weight loss clinic. He got the idea from a television commercial. I suppose we should be grateful that he doesn't watch late night infomercials like that Sham-Wow bilge, though to be honest, 'sham' does turn up in many of his schemes. No, this time he saw one of those lap band devices that encircles the stomach and causes the wearer to feel full sooner.

Wally's fertile imagination, however, made an intuitive leap. His idea is legal in most states, and since he's not a medical doctor, it's one that wouldn't require any medical experience, a license, or a shred of ethics. Wally wants to promote a lap dance weight loss system.

I know, I know, it's kind of creepy. He explained that it would involve "highly trained lap dance specialists" who would increase a client's respiration and heart rates, thereby promoting weight loss. I felt a chill run down my back. He wanted me to go with him to interview several prospective "clinicians" this evening. Suddenly, there were two chills on my back, both of them emanating from the laser-like focus of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. I didn't have to turn around to know that She stood in the hall doorway, her eyes boring icy holes in my back. I didn't dare to move for fear She would pounce and slice me to shreds.

I stammered some apologies to Wally. He left. She retreated down the hallway, but left a few of her familiars behind, cleverly disguised as domesticated cats. The furry little tattletales would report my every move. I settled back into my chair with a book, but my thoughts revolved around Wally's 'research.' I'll have to stay very close to home for the next week or two.

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