"Greg, please don't let me get to be six hundred pounds."
"Okay, Mom. I promise I'll slap that chimichanga out of your mouth as soon as you hit the high 500s."
"They were saying this woman was eating 30,000 calories a day. That's how much they eat in Africa!"
"I think you should double-check your math on that, Mom. Anyway, I don't think you should be watching this. It's just depressing you further."
Mom found her clicker, sighed, and turned the TV off.
"Greg," Mom said. "I have to ask you something."
"Do you have a penis in your refrigerator?"
"Uh.... yes, in fact. I met a really cute guy the other day and I chopped him up. I keep his penis in my lobster pot. Why? Is there a problem?"
"That's not funny. You know that's not funny."
"Look, I like to have a little penis once in a while with a nice glass of Chianti and fava beans. Ha, ha."
"Toots tells me you have a penis in your refrigerator."
"What? Ohhh.... You mean the refrigerator magnet?"
"Is that what it is?"
"Yes! It's art, of Michelangelo's David. And it's a magnet. I'll ask that you respect it."
"So many penises, so little time!"
"Can you please take it down? Toots doesn't like to see that. She's a child still."
"Our whole society is a child still."
"Nothing. Just a sick burn."
I got the clicker and turned the show back on. The six-hundred pounder was being lifted off her broken toilet and sobbing.
That's the stuff.