The secret is, of course, not to eat. No fun, but once you get used to it, the constant hunger can become a companion and you stop thinking about only food.
He is eating salads. He hates salads. Or so he thinks. Really, they're not so bad. A pain in the ass to prepare, even though he's using those bags of various greens you get in supermarkets that kill people with e. coli from fecal matter now and then. (It's hard, apparently, to teach poorly paid, undocumented migrants from developing nations to wash their hands after taking a shit prior to handling food others will eat.)
The Loser wants to be the fittest prostate cancer victim he knows. He's got a ways to go to achieve this.
|Fat asleep: The Loser often falls asleep while taking the train home after work.|