The Trapido Diet

The government, Mrs Traps, has being going on and on at me about getting in touch with my feminine side, lovely lass from Alberton, but as soon as she found out that I had done I landed up having to sleep in the car.

This from a woman who says that I’m the worst lay she’s ever had. How anyone can tell all that in six seconds is beyond me. Women are from Venus men are from Uranus — way out in the cold and one planet away from being Mickey’s dog.

Anyhow, while I’m lying on the back seat of a very cramped VW Polo at two in the morning, listening to the radio, I learned that obesity is killing more middle-aged men than anything else and that if I don’t lose weight fast I might as well book my shpot in West Park cemetery right now. The pundits were adamant that there is nothing more important in my life at this moment in time than shedding weight.

Of course at that time of the morning and stuck in the car I had no access to any food ; comfort or otherwise.

It then hit me like a bolt of lightning, seeing as I had nothing else to do — why not make the problem the solution … turn your wife into your personal trainer.

Hence The Trapido Diet was born.

Before you write in to tell me that you are on the Atkins, Tony Ferguson or anything else take careful note of the fact that on the Trapido you can eat anything you want, whenever you want. Your problem might be in trying to keep it down once you start following the not-so-easy steps.

STEP 1 — Making your missus into your personal trainer.

Whatever you do, do NOT tell her about the programme.

Instead wait until you are out with other married couples and attack her mother.

Something like : “Yes my mother-in-law is an absolute trooper. Mind you she was late last night when the bag on her Hoover clipped our chimney, nearly killing our 17-year-old who was strapped to it at the time (told me he wants to be a conductor), and flinging her black cat which was riding on the back onto the motorway. Nearly caused bedlam. I told her that when she used to fly in on her old broom she never had any problems with landings … ”

When you get home I dare you to eat anything which hasn’t been checked by a taster.

Of course President Zuma has five mother-in-laws! He could fling open the front door when they’re all visiting and bitterly remark that the driveway looks like a showroom for Henson (famous make of brooms). He’ll be slim within a week — how much weight can you retain if the only thing you can swallow is taken in through a straw?

STEP 2 — Introducing physical exercise (battering) to your diet.

At this stage your missus (who is as good as a mile) will not be speaking to you (don’t write in to thank me just yet).

Let’s put her to work.

At a packed family gathering throw in the following.

“Yes the children all look like her ex-boss but I can’t get him to pay maintenance” ; and

“I’ve heard that doing your sister-in-law is the holy grail of sex (if no sister-in-law choose a profession which her belter of a best friend does eg aromatherapist).

The good news is that your wife will be toning up — nobody can throw that much furniture and not be fitter for it.

Check that your medical aid has a hospital plan.

Please don’t write in asking about how you get an interim protection order. How is your personal trainer going to cut your weight down if she can’t get access to you? Besides having your jaw wired shut not only mends the break it stops you eating.

STEP 3 — The near death experience.

Right fatty you’ve lost a lot but not enough. It’s time to introduce the final drastic step.

Because most of you will be living in your cars by now make sure you write down all three steps before you are evicted.

In this step we have to backtrack because we need your personal trainer to have sex with you. Please don’t phone me with your helpful chloroform hints because it defeats the object of the exercise.

As soon as the big day arrives check that you have the necessary equipment — no not that, a two-litre plastic bottle which you put next to the bed.

As soon as the game is on and you are on top start screaming your secretary/another belter’s name who she can’t stand and see how long you can stay on (yep, Rodeo Sex).

Of course any doctor worth his salt would have advised you to have check-ups and blood tests while you are undergoing this stringent diet. Here’s the good news — you will have at least two litres of blood pouring out of your wounds at this point in time … which you collect in the two-litre bottle and head for Lancet laboratories immediately … sort of a lifetime supply of samples.

What?

NEXT WEEK : Surviving chronic depression and treating near-fatal wounds.