It’s that time of year, everyone. That’s right, the best show on television is back! No, I’m not talking about Game of Thrones, you nerdy assholes, so put down your Magic cards and stop dry-humping the trendiest J.R.R. Tolkien novel. It’s time to whip out the Kleenex and the bowl of vegan Cheetos, ’cause everybody’s favorite fat show is back! And, believe it or not, “Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition” is even bigger and better this season. At two hours long, the show itself is 60 minutes fatter!
I don’t know if it’s the fact that now I’m watching the show on my 46″ HDTV rather than my 13″ CrapBook, but even the contestants look larger-and-in-charger this year. Take Tony, for example.
Look closely at his folds… can you see Kermit’s face?
At 49 and 398, his tits weighed more than me. These are the moments when I wish I would have spent the pretty penny and gotten the 3D tv. I want to see his sweat flying off the screen and seasoning my microwaved enchiladas.
And if obese people exponentially increasing their life’s worth through hard work and determination and much less Funyuns isn’t enough for you, then watch it for Chris Powell. The blue-eyed, perfectly fit, sexually ambiguous host is just as brave as his contestants, not only because he promises them a new life in a year, but also because he hugs these BFGs when they’re at their worst: sweaty and shirtless. I mean, it’s hard for me to kiss my sexy boyfriend if I’m not in an air-conditioned room. I don’t know how Mr. Powell does it.
I don’t think it will get better than Tony’s story. During the course of the year, he managed to lose 200 pounds while also:
- saying goodbye to his 28 year-old son, who died from complications due to cerebral palsy.
- ending an engagement with his fiance.
- living out of his car for months before finding work.
I cried six times just during the “This week on Extreme Makeover” preview montage. I cried during the Hulu commercials when the father and son buy smartphones at the Verizon store and say “I Love You” in Man Code. I cried when I burnt the roof of my mouth on the vegan pizza I’d nuked in the microwave for too long. I cried when I knocked my red wine all over my couch because I miscalculated the distance of the wine glass because I was crying too much. I couldn’t. Stop. Crying.
The show airs on Sundays, and I’m a Hulu+ user. So come Monday night, please don’t call or text me. I’m busy. And I really can’t afford to lose another phone to water damage. At this point it’s just getting embarrassing.
