Remember when the humungous fat loser, convicted violent criminal, court-certified racist, Jessica Yaniv Simpson, kept calling the doctor because he had the sweats everytime he drank one of his 4000 calorie concoctions? Well, it was no surprise to find out that the land whale was a type 2 diabetic. In this case, it is 100% self-inflicted because he is roughly the same size around the middle as he is in height.
Well, today’s guest article is from someone who actually has type 1 diabetes, and they are not amused with the cosplaying sugar junkie.
I wanted to take the time to write about Jonny’s “experience” as a diabetic, though hard to determine because he constantly switches from a type 1 and type 2. He’s got more gadgets than Inspector Gadget himself– Go-Go-Gadget glucose monitor, Go-Go-Gadget insulin-releasing patch, and his trusty sidekick Rexy, the wonder dog who can sniff out low blood sugar and magically summon Subway sandwiches from the kitchen (amongst the other fake tasks this dog is taught to do). I mean, who needs a superhero when you’ve got Rexy on your team?
Now, as someone who battles insulin resistance and sensitivity, I’ve had to make some serious lifestyle changes. Let me tell you, dealing with wonky blood sugar levels is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded – not exactly a fun time. As an ACTUAL woman as well, I’d rather take a week of cramps and mood swings over a sugar meltdown any day. When my sugar levels were out of whack, I was a walking zombie, dragging myself through the day and losing precious hours to sleep and exhaustion. It was like my body had declared mutiny, and I was just along for the ride.
So, I decided to take charge of my health. I bid farewell to a whole bunch of tempting treats and made friends with a way better diet and discipline. It wasn’t easy, but now I can occasionally sneak in a slice of cake without feeling like I’m playing a dangerous game of sugar roulette. But let me tell you, I dpn’t gorge on cake and cookies, when I eat cake in particular I slide away the frosting like it’s the plague.
Now, let’s talk about Jonny. This guy has the self-discipline of a crazy kid in a candy store. He’d wolf down anything in sight without a second thought. Does he even know that drowning himself in endless breadsticks at Olive Garden is a bad idea? Meanwhile, I’m over here skipping sugary treats for weeks, and when I finally cave in, I’m hit with a wave of sweetness that makes me gag.
In the end, I refuse to call myself disabled. I’ve taken the reins and made the tough choices to keep my body in check. But Jonny? Well, let’s just say he’s got a lot to learn about responsibility and maybe a thing or two about portion control. It baffles me how Jonny can even complain about his “disability” when its something so easily resolvable. But his fetish for feeling like the victim will always trump having a better life.
I’ve seen toddlers with better problem-solving skills than Jonny when it comes to dealing with his so-called “disability.” It’s like he’s got a PhD in making excuses and a black belt in self-sabotage. If only he’d channel that energy into finding solutions instead of wallowing in his own drama, he’d be unstoppable.
But nope, Jonny’s too busy perfecting his “Woe is me” routine to see the light. It’s like he’s got a full-time job as the CEO of Complaints R Us. I’ve half a mind to send him a superhero cape with “Captain Victim” embroidered on it – it’d be a perfect fit…if I could find a size 5X.
Tell us your thoughts on the land whales sugar heavy diabetic diet!
