Ah. Here we go. The LA nutritionist -- who looks as if her red carpet body strategy is to dwarf any excess flesh with the largest breast implants she could find -- is walking us through an array of tantalizing diet treats. There are juices in a rainbow of colors, but not one, as far as I can tell, that you can sink your teeth into. There's hemp protein powder, which looks a bit like petrified diarrhea, mixed into a deep purple concoction no doubt intended to block the memory of what the stuff really looks like. Not working for me.
Okay, she's moved on to something a bit more realistic: moderation. Simple, sensible, accessible. That is until the camera zoomed in on a plate with a piece of chicken about the size of a thumbnail. Like the breast implants, the huge pile of spinach next to it probably made it seem smaller than it really was, but still, if a portion is something I can stuff into my mouth all at once it's inevitable -- there's a midnight pizza in my future.
Discouraging. But, still hopeful, I perked up as she moved to the final option. After all, the best is always saved for last. Lovely meals, perfectly measured for nutritional content and calorie count, delivered right to your door, three times a day. Perfect. Now all I have to do is find someone willing to cook and assess and calibrate and bring it all to me, in the trailer park, for a reasonable price. Any volunteers?
Back to the red carpet. I think I'm going to wait for the next segment, on Melissa McCarthey's secrets. Affordable, attainable, and easy to maintain. I'm in!
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