I was sitting in the Kroger parking lot a couple weeks ago, about to buy something I knew I shouldn’t buy, to eat something I knew I shouldn’t eat, knowing it would only make me happy temporarily and fatter tomorrow, and knowing I was going to do it anyway. It was at this moment that the muse of displacing-personal-responsibility whispered in my ear about how wonderful it would be if I had a secondary stomach implanted. They could insert it right where my gallbladder used to be. Then I’d have the surgeons install a switch in my esophagus that would allow me to divert food into the dummy stomach not connected to my digestive track, allowing me to eat whatever I wanted without having to digest it. When the fake tummy became full, I could empty it manually through a hole in my abdomen. Or better yet, I could have it routed directly to the end of my large intestine to dump the food in the traditional manner!

It was at this point that I realized I have a serious problem with food.

Gleefully imagining the voluntary installation of a colostomy bag inside my body is NOT NORMAL. Yet, there is still a part of me that longs for birth control for food, something that will allow me to indulge in all the pleasure I want to with little risk of suffering negative consequences. What do we have now?

• Bulimia – Not an option. It wrecks havoc on your body and the acid from your stomach erodes the enamel on your back teeth. Also, vomit, ew.
• Olestra – A fake fat substitute that your body does not digest, but leaves you literally shitting your pants.
• Alli – the diet pill that prevents your body from absorbing all the fat you consume, but again, leaves you literally shitting your pants.
• Artificial sweeteners (i.e. fake food) – I’ve found these helpful, but some people dislike the aftertaste and have concerns about their safety. There is also research that suggests they don’t help you lose weight because they leave your body unsatisfied and yearning for the real thing. That said, I drank Diet Pepsi the whole time I was losing 190 pounds.

My idea of a secondary stomach would probably have issues (besides the fact that it’s Kra-zee with a capital K). Food could get stuck in the switch or it could get stuck in one position or the bag could leak into your body, all making you very dead. Regardless of all the flaws in the above propositions, none of them fix the underlying problem. They are just patches of duct tape keeping the fender from falling off your car. They stop you from trailing sparks down the highway, but they don’t fix the actual problem. Until I can find a way to weld my bumper back on, I make do the best I can with the tools available.

I do think that our ancestors descendants will look back and think it an oddity that people used to write weight-loss memoirs and weight-loss blogs, just like I watch Moulin Rouge and think it bizarre that people use to die of tuberculosis. In the meantime, if I ever hear of sketchy surgeons illegally implanting secondary stomachs, I’ll know where they got the idea.