Yes, indeed, I’m always riddled with guilt after I’ve gorged myself on a slice of double chocolate cake or imbibed a salty Margarita. Lady Penelope bemoans the ever-changing rules of diet and nutrition and calls those who insist on their programs “Diet Nazis”.
The things that I adore are bad for me
or so I’m told by ev’ry thing I’ve read.
My Diet Coke? Go fig! How could that be?
French fries and hamburgers might leave me dead.
Beloved spices give us acid reflux.
Your favorite bread is banished for its gluten.
We’re in the cross hairs like some sitting ducks.
It’s safer eating lunch with Vladmir Putin!
I wear my seatbelt, I do have some sense,
and touch my toes occasionally, I swear.
But no one’s interested in my two cents.
To throw away their kale they wouldn’t dare.
These diet Nazis really have some gaul.
They want to confiscate my alcohol.