Last week I threw a conniption fit because baby couldn't have a Cinnabon. That was a fun blog to write but reading it days later I felt pangs of shame. Is this really the worst thing in my life right now that I have to exercise some self-control around my food intake?

Last Monday I weighed in at 234.4 and by Wednesday, I was at 231.6. Yes! A three-pound drop! By Friday I weighed myself and saw -- gasp! -- 237.4! I had gained six pounds! Christ on a stick, what happened? These numbers hold no true value when taken out of context.

It's been a week since my last run and I miss it. And so, my fellow geeks, even if by this admission I am humiliated and asked to take the Walk Of Shame, I want you all to know one thing: As I take the perp walk towards exile, as you all turn your backs from me, I shall look at your fat and lumpy asses and think "Suck it, boys."

Though Toronto's mayor has lost 16 pounds in week two of his program, dieting only helps short-term. When treatment stops, the weight comes back -- always -- there are few (if any) known exceptions to this rule of nature. Cutting back calories and increasing activity addresses the symptoms of obesity -- not its causes.

That margarita would've been a gateway drug straight to the chips, the salty chips a gateway to the spicy salsa (tongue: "hot, hot, hot"), and that would've recapitulated us right back to the ice-cold margarita. Each gulp fantastically starting the cycle again. Nope. No margarita for Fat Boy.