Everything ever written about dieting is complete and total bullshit—except for what’s in this book.
Every single diet guru, without so much as a single exception, is a complete and total bullshitter—except for me.
And the truth of the matter is that diets simply don’t work—except for the one I’m about to describe.
But before I do, let me throw some scientific horseshit your way.
Let me ask you something: Why are fat people fat?
Is it:
(a) they eat too much
(b) they don’t exercise enough
(c) they eat too many carbs
(d) they eat too much fat
(e) they have emotional problems
(f) they weigh too much
(g) they’re genetically programmed to be fat
or
(h) none of the above ?
If you answered a, b, c, or d, you’re nothing but a fucking brainwashed sheep.
If you answered e, you’re worse than a brainwashed sheep.
If you answered f, you’re a fucking smartass fuck, and if I could, I’d come down there and kick the living shit out of you.
And if you answered g or h, you’re still pretty much wrong.
Because the truth is that fat people are genetically programmed to eat a certain ratio of food components known as CQ-alphacarboprofilactiketozona-vinimals3.1, which in turn programs their bodies to be fat.
That’s all there is to it—and anyone who tells you otherwise if a fucking nutcase who should be taken out back and shot in the head.
The only way to go from fat to thin is by eating the correct ratio of CQ-alphacarboprofilactiketozonavinimals3.1.
But even if they try, fat people cannot maintain the proper balance for long.
And why?
I just fucking told you!
Because they’re genetically programmed to eat the wrong ratio.
But believe it or not (and if you don’t believe it, you’re a fucking idiot), I—and only I (take that Dr. Atkins, Mr. Pritikin, and all you other deluded pieces of shit)—have found the solution of all solutions—a way to guaran-fucking-tee that you’ll be as slim as a grade three anorexic till the very day you die (—probably of malnutrition).
How did I find the solution?
Well, first of all—DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING QUESTION ME AGAIN, YOU DISRESPECTFUL SON OF A BITCH!!!
I know what I’m talking about!
I’m a medical doctor, for goodness sake!
Do you have a medical degree! Do you?!
No.
So just sit down, shut the fuck up, and listen to what I say.
OK.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way (and if you ever pull something like that again I’ll cut off your fucking tongue), allow me to explain how I managed to make my revolutionary discovery. (And if you’re reading this Time Magazine, please use my right side for my Person of the Year cover photo.)
I started by studying the fat person’s body—not just by asking a few questions and playing with numbers—but by actually digging right into it, and getting all the way down to the subatomic level. I’m talking about cells, protons, neutrons, electrons, and shit that would leave Albert Einstein scratching his head (—because to be honest, compared to me he’s pretty much a dumb fuck).
And after 6,792 days straight in the laboratory without taking so much as a second to blink, I actually managed to both find and decipher the fat code itself (—which wasn’t easy considering how it was written in blue backwards hieroglyphic Pig Latin against a blue background).
I then studied 432,678,326,326,358,456,457,361 different foods—this time at the sub-subatomic level—in order to determine which contain the components necessary to fill in the fat code’s gaps and convert it to a thin code.
Finally, I took my data, ran 485,968,325,324,999,966,364,654,142,325, 322, 122,233,623,447,456,456,877,124 computer simulations (all of which I quadruple checked by hand and quintuple checked by foot) in order to determine the exact amount and sequence of foods necessary to infiltrate and alter the fat code—and then I used the results to formulate a never-fail 4,325,684 step program to reprogram the program that programs your body to be fat.
I went through all of that shit just to help you fit into a pair of size four jeans—and all you’ve done for me is pay a measly $23.99 for my book, you cheap, selfish, ungrateful motherfucker! (And to make matters worse, only three and a half cents of that money actually ends up in my pocket. The rest goes to my publisher, my agent, Charles Barnes, G. Clifford Noble, a group of huge Greek women, the United States government, my four ex-wives, and the millions of other leeches who think it’s their-God given right to reach in with their greedy hands and take the money that’s rightfully mine. And if you happen to be reading this book without actually having bought it new, I should really come down there and take my three and a half cents directly out of your fucking ass!!!)
Anyways, here you go:
Preliminaries
Start by taking your height, converting it to inches, converting that number to kilometers, converting it back to inches, dividing it by the square root of your left wrist’s circumference (unless you’re an Ashkenazi Jew, in which case you should take the cube root of your right thigh), multiplying by the longest number of days you’ve ever gone without eating a square pie, and dividing everything by p2. (If you managed to do all of that, feel free to come over and do my taxes)
The number you’re left with is your Ideal Metabolic Carbohydrate Processing Target Limit Rate On Tuesdays Through Fridays In Months Beginning With An X Or Q, or IMCPTLROTTFIMBWAXOQ.
Write that number on a two dollar bill minted in Delaware and a hundred dollar bill dipped in mint ice cream, and then use the two bills to purchase four more copies of my book.
When you’re done with all of that, multiply your weight in pounds by 703, and divide the result by your height (in inches) squared.
The number that’s left over is your Body Mass Index, or BMI.
Now, no matter what that number is, you’re way too fucking fat.
Phase 1
If you think Elvis is dead, eat two servings of goat cheese a day for seven days. If you think he’s alive, eat four servings of cow cheese every three days for seven weeks. If you’re not sure, don’t eat any cheese at all, unless your first name happens to be Elvis, in which case you should eat nothing but cheese for eight days straight, and then eat nothing but peas for the rest of your life (left-handed Ashkenazi Jews should add hot sauce to their peas).
Phase 2
If you have type A blood and use a PC, convert to Sunni Islam. If you have type A blood and use a Mac, convert to Shia Christianity. If you have type A blood and don’t use a computer, go buy one and get with the fucking times!!!
If you have type B blood and your name contains the letter B, eat penis-shaped foods (cucumbers, eggplants, etc.) for fourteen days, and testicle shaped foods for twenty eight days. If you have type B blood and your name does not contain the letter B, change your name to Bobby Bonaduce or BBB Belvedere (ambidextrous Ashkenazi Jews should change their name to Bobby Bernardino).
If you have type AB blood and drive a silver Toyota Corolla, eat nothing but Sushi prepared by a man named Yoshi Roshi until he drops dead. If you have type AB blood and drive any other type of car, buy my book Diet Secrets for People with Type AB Blood Who Don’t Drive a Silver Toyota Corolla.
If you have type O blood, there’s really no hope for you—just buy a hundred more copies of my book, and realize that you’re always going to be fat.
And if you don’t have any blood at all, drop by the bookstore, buy seventeen more copies of my book, and then head to your nearest hospital.
Phase 3
If you’re still alive after Phase 2, eat coconuts for the next fourteen days while watching season two of Gilligan’s Island (Ashkenazi Jews with athlete’s foot should watch season three instead).
Phase 4
By now, you’re probably starting to get sick of coconuts and season two of Gilligan’s Island.
Well too fucking bad!
No one said this was going to be easy.
Do you think Mrs. Five Foot Nine One Hundred and Thirteen Pounds of Skin and Bones with Three Pounds of Makeup on Her Face Supermodel wants to eat coconuts and watch Gilligan’s Island every day like some kind of psychotic underfed robot zombie?!
No!
But she does it anyways.
So stop being a baby, and rewatch season two of Gilligan’s Island while sitting on a hammock and drinking coconut juice.
Phase 5
Go to your local salad bar and eat 1.73 grams of each and every item in sight.
And yes—I mean EXACTLY 1.73 grams.
I don’t give a shit if you have to spend all day measuring foods—I want you go down there with a digital scale, and make sure you follow my instructions down to the sub-sub-subatomic level!
If you eat 1.72 grams or 1.74 grams, the program will not work.
And who the fuck are you to complain, anyways?
Spending one day measuring foods is nothing compared to what some people have to go through each and every day of their lives, you spoiled, ungrateful piece of shit!
Most people on the planet work twelve hours a day and don’t even get enough food to eat—and you’re whining about spending a few hours measuring food at an all-you-can-shove-down-your-fucking-throat buffet!
So just get the scale, measure the foods, and quit complaining.
Phase 6
Go to the restroom and vomit out your salad bar meal.
Phase 7
Phases 7 through 4,325,684 can be found in my book Dr. John Doe’s Generic Revolutionary Diet Book 2: Milking It for All It’s Worth.
What?
Don’t look at me like that, you judgmental son of a bitch.
And what are you—a communist or something?
This is the United States of America, buddy.
I have a right to make a living just like anybody else.