I guess after six pages of Optavia discussion I'm gonna have to be that asshole that points out Amberlynn ripped mega ass at 12:26.
I love you. There. I said it.
Okay, so I was hoping this would be her Hail Mary pass, knowing of course that she would be eating old pasta out of the garbage can by day three, but hoping like a dumbass nonetheless. She's gonna make it through 2019. It's gonna be awful. She's gonna suffer. Every living creature in Chez Fag will suffer alongside her. But unless she gets hit on the head and is in a coma for six months and loses half her body weight while unconscious, she's gone in 2020, probably by late summer. Sorry to be so grim but I'm the Fat Whisperer. I know these things.
Also love it when the terminally obese become concerned about their health only when it means they may have to eat less or move.
An obese person with diabetes, blood thicker than pepto bismol, cholesterol visible under the skin around the eyes, congested heart, no knee cartilage, CPAP machine barely keeping them alive at night, intense fungal infections in skin rolls, hasn't showered in a week, rotting teeth because they can't get close enough to the sink to spit and don't fit in the dental chairs, panting when they think, gasping when they talk, sweating in the dairy section at Costco will eat a meatlover's pizza with extra cheese and half a gallon of Blue Bell ice cream for dinner but low carb is unhealthy! Will sit in one place until they are at risk of bone infection due to pressure ulcers but doing those seated arm exercises make their shoulders hurt and they're afraid they will do permanent damage if they continue.
It's all over but the shouting. Barring extreme intervention that removes all capacity for her to make decisions about what she eats for at least 180 days, she's got less than two years. At this point she may as well eat whatever the hell she wants because we collectively have a better chance at winning the lottery simultaneously than she does of saving her life.
