I blame Al Copeland

My drift into morbid obesity, my first 100 extra pounds is all because of chicken magnate, serial bridegroom, and larger than life self promoter, Al Copeland.  Allow me to expand.

When I got out of the army in 1986 I had already pushed my weight from 164 to 180.  My first real job was managing a Popeyes restaurant for the Marriott Corporation, Marriott considered acquiring the chain.  After training I went to work in Rockville Maryland the area where I grew up.  This was the busiest store in the region.  Lines out the door every lunch.


One of a managers' main responsibilities is to make sure the food is consistently excellent, that the biscuits are golden and flakey, the chicken crispy outside and moist and tender inside, Cajun rice and red beans the right temp.  You do this by tasting the food every hour.

Now a regular person would take a small bite of each and maybe even just chew and spit it out...not me.  I TASTED THE FOOD EVERY HOUR.  It was a stressful job and I eat when stressed.   So I was putting down a 2 piece and a biscuit every hour.  Fuckin' Al and his devil chicken.  I gained 85 pounds in 4 months.  I had to quit or I would have been a shutin washing my ass with a rag on a stick.  Pretty picture right?

I have been losing and gaining that same weight and more since then.  For 28 years I've been yo-yoing a hundred pounds every 3 years or so.  Which I'm told is just GREAT for your heart.

I've been as high 340 (yikes severe morbid obesity) and down to 205 (woo hoo! just over weight). But never under 200, not since 1986.

In that time I've developed an encyclopedic understanding of nutrition and weight loss.  I know all about every diet and fad and surgery.  I know first hand that weight loss gets harder as you get older.  I've explored human growth hormone and 'roids (haven't tried them yet still in the research phase); Even illegal substances (which work but not a long term solution, I like my teeth).

I've done the math on calories and exercise.  I know exactly what to eat and why, to be healthy.  The problem is none of it feels as good as a leg, a thigh, a biscuit and some red beans and rice in a cardboard tray.  Once you've had a Popeyes' party in your mouth.....that bell can't be unrung.

So when I get down to 165 I'm going to go Als grave and do a little dance.  Not "on" his grave but dance with the spirit of ol' Al.  Al didn't want me to be a big fat bastard, he just wanted to party.  He definitely knew how to do that and he sure knew how to cook some chicken.  And maybe the spirit of ol' Al will have some advice for me; I am in the market for a 4th ex wife.  RIP Al.