Naked on a Meadow

I want to sit naked on a meadow with nothing but junk food and die trying. Pizza so thick you need both hands. Burgers stacked five high. Everything deep-fried. Just eat until something stops working—your heart, your lungs, doesn’t matter—and expire with cheese on your face and a stupid grin. That’s the whole fantasy.

The catch is you know exactly what happens next. The intervention special. The TV crew cutting you out of your house. The photographs that follow you forever. So you don’t do it. You eat salads. You go to the gym. You pretend you have self-control when really you just have fear.

Saw this video once—42 foods you’re supposed to eat before you die. All the indulgence is there, ranked and scored like it matters. Part of me wanted to watch every second. The other part knew exactly why I shouldn’t.