Tubby, or not tubby
That is the question

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind
To suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous hunger
Or to take arms against a sea of tormenters
And by opposing end them

To diet, to fast
No more

And by a fast to say we end the gut-bulge
And the thousand natural lumps
That flesh is heir to
'Tis rock-hard abs devoutly to be wish'd

To diet, to fast
To fast, perchance to slim
Ay, there's the rub
For in that loss of girth what joy may come
Ere we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause
There's the paradox
That makes calamity of extended life

For who would bear the whips and scorns of restraint
The purveyor's banquet
The confectioner's treat
The pangs of denied craving
The jaw's atrophy
The insolence of gastrointestinal churning
That patient adherence to the regimen takes
When she herself might her relief make with a fair binging

Who would fart and swear
To grunt and sweat over a stubborn turd
But that the dread of something after relapse
The undiscover'd mire
From whose clutch no dieter returns
Puzzles the will
And makes them rather bear those ills they have
Than fly to others that they know not of

Thus anxiety does make slaves of them all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast so wrought
And exercises of great will and effort
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action

Gorge you now!
The spare Anorexia!
Waif, on thy Oreos