Gloth sits on the table cloth

The hump.

It's back again.

It's that demon made of flesh and butter, rolling noodles like lovemaking worms, just slobbering and vomiting Alfredo sauce.

Esch.

I'm talking, of course, about weight. Mine's back up since vacation. And, of course, I expected that. It was a nice, cushy week where my wife and I didn't think about anything -- least of all ourselves. We just did what we wanted, ate what we wanted. Didn't even care what we were doing to ourselves.

Self-destruction. Now that's a vacation.

Yesterday, I got back on my bike. I can feel it coming back, although I can see where the demon sinks its talons. The bastard had my mind going: "There's something wrong with my chain," "Is it supposed to wobble like that?" "What's that clicking noise?" "You should stop now and rest."

Oh, demon. I name thee Gloth. There. I took away your power.