Dear Covid Diary,

You would think that if you were living on a farm you’d be living “high on the hog.”

We don’t have hogs.

We had a lot of freaking cucumbers though… and thus pickles. 400 from 6 plants.

They made me fat.

Not really. Beer made me fat but who wants to blame beer.

My doctor blames the pain I get from sitting at picnic benches on the lack of muscles in my stomach. (There is no room for them.)

“Look at that thing!” she says as she points at it.

“Hey!” I protest. “I got a six-pack in here. I am just using a protective layer to keep it safe and chillin’.”

And thus my belly became known as “The Yeti Cooler.”

Not really, again. It’s known as “Chester”. My daughter named it when she was 4. As we would go on trips and past towns she would poke it in different spots, exclaiming “Eastchester! Westchester! Weird Linty Park in Center Chester!”

Chester and I are really good buddies. He catches all the food I drop so that I can try and eat it again. Sometimes I can rest my beer on his head.

But alas, it being a New Year and it being the time of the year where we make promises and declarations to improve our lives, I have decided that maybe Chester needs to go on a diet.

But salad? No! Fitness shakes? I’d rather not.

Then someone told me of a diet where I can eat all the meat and cheese I want. It was called “The Cheeto Diet.”

This I liked…but I feared turning orange and thus possibly having my political leanings damaged into those of an old white male full of fear and loathing. And anyway, the President is fat. This diet must be fake news!

Then they told me I had mis-heard. It was the “Keto Diet.”

Ah…. so I could hide in armoires and leap out on unsuspecting Clouseau wanna-bes!

Again… I was wrong. That was Cato. (He has an Institute now I heard.)

This was pronounced Key-toe.

It’s based on your body triggering itself into Key-toe-sis; a state where you imagine you are stuck in some Dante-esque level of hell as a cameraman on C-SPAN.

And it really was true! But I had to limit my intake of carbs and sugars. No bread. No wine.

If Jesus was on Keto that whole Last Supper thing might have not gone down.

Maybe he would have stayed home and watched Birdbox.

And then not died for YOUR sins.

You people really are selfish bastards. (Yes. In about 30 seconds you can go back to watch your Clown and Midget Porn.)

Jesus could have hung with me and Chester… and had beer. And he could have conjured up loaves and I would fish in the pond.

Then we would sit by the firepit and joke about the silly diet I almost tried.

“Ha! Bread and wine? The guy serving that should be crucified!”

(Never thought I would see Jesus do a spit take.)

Needless, I’m done dieting now.

Thanks for the help,

Brian