Appetite: The hardest working man in show business
I underestimated this salad. I knew that I was going to need some vegetables at some point, so this seemed as good a point as any. This was the wrong salad to choose -- it had three meats, it was served in a concave plate so you didn't really understand how much there was, and it had these sneaky little fuckers known as chickpeas, aka garbanzo beans, aka more starch. Those gar-bastards hid motionless among the vegetables until they made it past my outer defenses and used the water I'd been drinking to expand in my stomach like a mob of starving Violet Beauregardes locked in Willy Wonka's Inventing Room with nothing but the three-course-meal gum to eat. I did it. I had no idea you could get food sweats from a salad, but it's done. Time to rally.
Morale: Look, I know, "It's a salad, that barely counts"
Appetite: Don't judge me
I went home to rally and passed the hell out when I sat down on the couch. My brain was fighting off the insulin like Jackie Chan vs. the biker gang in Rumble In The Bronx, only our hero is fatter and more apathetic. I did rally, though, and even though it's four hours later, I'm going to persevere.
Morale: Rally Monkey
This monkey is probably dead.