DEUCE! My once perfectly-structured
CHEST has grown, or rather my tum; I cannot get my
PARKA on. My wife, she says I am a foodie
BEAST, a bottom-feeding sluicer-upperer, a garden
SHRUB that spreads beyond its designated space, a
SPINY anteater of a man, sucking up everything on my plate.
NOISY! She says, as I eat, holding her ears. My  
CREDO is: ‘A man cannot fully grow a  
BUSHY beard without food and food abundant.’ A
YOUNG child would see through this nonsense, a child
BELOW three even. A sticky-faced child seated in a high
CHAIR. The deuce! I cannot get my parka on!

[The result of unexpectedly missing two days]


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