Good leaders know their people's strengths and deploy them accordingly to accomplish goals. Great leaders care about their people, fight tooth and nail to get everyone through the storm, and win.
Here I introduce a great leader: Captain Fatcell, commander of all my fat cells:
Unlike the other fat cells in my body, cells that are unformed and loutish, Captain Fatcell is jacked. He's dressed for combat, he's got black gloves and combat boots, and is transported throughout my blood stream on the bodies of squashed undisciplined fat cells.
Once upon a time, Captain Fatcell was but an ordinary white fat cell residing in the subcutaneous layer of my cheeks, or possibly my thighs, pick one. Like all normal fat cells, he had a small nucleus, some cytoplasm, and a big ol' droplet of fat that made up 85% of his volume.
One day, as he was undergoing a routine lipolysis and preparing to go into gluconeogenesis, he encountered something that mutated his cellular structure. Scientists at Banana Laboratories are still running tests to determine what it was, and the current theory is that Boyfriend did something so sweet that the insulin in my blood spiked, interacted with rogue lipoprotein lipases, and transformed the innocent fat cell into Captain Fatcell, a strong and silent type.
A great leader. Of fat cells.
It was Captain Fatcell who led the Charge of Christmas '11, when an enormous amount of chicharon surged through my intestines on their way out to the glorious ultimate freedom of the toilet bowl. And who can forget the War of the Pre-Wedding Days in '11, when my body absorbed obscene quantities of intensely sugary tropical fruit, criminally oily and fatty meat dishes, and Mom of Bridezilla stress waves? During these times of opportunity for all fats, Captain Fatcell, as though responding to a higher calling, marshaled my fat cells and marched them efficiently towards my waist and abdomen. Each and every single fat cell stationed there became larger.
Knowing that fat cells increase in size, not in number, Captain Fatcell is no doubt biding his time, waiting, just waiting, for me to break open that double-layer Ferrero Rocher chocolate box.
God help me.
Here I introduce a great leader: Captain Fatcell, commander of all my fat cells:
Unlike the other fat cells in my body, cells that are unformed and loutish, Captain Fatcell is jacked. He's dressed for combat, he's got black gloves and combat boots, and is transported throughout my blood stream on the bodies of squashed undisciplined fat cells.
Once upon a time, Captain Fatcell was but an ordinary white fat cell residing in the subcutaneous layer of my cheeks, or possibly my thighs, pick one. Like all normal fat cells, he had a small nucleus, some cytoplasm, and a big ol' droplet of fat that made up 85% of his volume.
One day, as he was undergoing a routine lipolysis and preparing to go into gluconeogenesis, he encountered something that mutated his cellular structure. Scientists at Banana Laboratories are still running tests to determine what it was, and the current theory is that Boyfriend did something so sweet that the insulin in my blood spiked, interacted with rogue lipoprotein lipases, and transformed the innocent fat cell into Captain Fatcell, a strong and silent type.
A great leader. Of fat cells.
It was Captain Fatcell who led the Charge of Christmas '11, when an enormous amount of chicharon surged through my intestines on their way out to the glorious ultimate freedom of the toilet bowl. And who can forget the War of the Pre-Wedding Days in '11, when my body absorbed obscene quantities of intensely sugary tropical fruit, criminally oily and fatty meat dishes, and Mom of Bridezilla stress waves? During these times of opportunity for all fats, Captain Fatcell, as though responding to a higher calling, marshaled my fat cells and marched them efficiently towards my waist and abdomen. Each and every single fat cell stationed there became larger.
Knowing that fat cells increase in size, not in number, Captain Fatcell is no doubt biding his time, waiting, just waiting, for me to break open that double-layer Ferrero Rocher chocolate box.
God help me.
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