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The Quest For Glory When I was nine my friends and I discovered a stack of Picture magazines in one of their grandfathers’ garage. While they were, on the whole, fixated on the main subject of the publication, a particular article caught my attention. It was about a British man who claimed to have consumed nothing but beer for the past few years of his life, resulting in the growth of a smooth, round beer belly. Furthermore, women were entranced and seduced by this stomach. I resolved at once that my secret life mission would be to obtain one of these bellies for myself. As soon as I was able, I began a strict regimen of beer of every persuasion - except of course for Cascade, which is revolting. This line of action ceased when I learned from Dr Karl Kryuzelnicki that it is not beer itself that gives you a gut, but rather the fatty foods a person is more inclined to consume when under the influence of alcohol. The acquisition of a girlfriend allowed me to take a new tack in my quest for a sexy beer belly. I began to sit and laze around more often, and with her unwitting assistance devoured larger and larger amounts of fatty and sugary foods like hot dogs, hamburgers, kebabs, pies and loads of chocolate. I cut out as much exercise as possible by renewing my vow not to take up a sport and obtaining car lifts as often as possible. From my grandfather I inherited a white T-shirt proclaiming proudly to all and sundry "It’s Not A Beer Gut: It’s A Fuel Tank For A Love Machine" which I now wear with a sense of deep familial and stomachical pride. Of course, my journey is still far from over - for instance, I can still see parts of my feet in the shower - but I have laid some good, solid groundwork for the future. I am the proud owner of a healthy, happy, round and warm belly, firm and protruding. It sits snugly over my belt, gazing out at the world with a sense of wonder. My best gut-growing years are still in front of me. If I can just manage to subdue these recurring chest pains...
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