On Genetics

I found out today that apparently my disgustingly endless appetite and metabolism are somewhat hereditary. Yesterday, my father's work lunch was seven pieces of Popeye's fried chicken or something. Nothing too elaborate, but this was a day when he did not partake of Five Guys.

If you've never heard of "Five Guys," it's a burger franchise started by … actually, I'm not even going to give you a hint. It's unnecessary. Anyway, they are famous for serving enormous portions, usually placed at the bottom of a brown paper bag which they proceed to fill to the top with scalding hot french fries, which you must devour if you wish to have any hope of finding your sandwich.

It seems my father sometimes stop for lunch there. He only gets a grilled cheese, but he has them place three double-cheeseburger patties inside. He essentially eats 1.5 lbs of beef with extra cheese on regular bread and without frills like lettuce or tomato.

Turns out after eating it he started to go blind in one eye. But I mean that happens pretty easily these days. He just took out his contact and wandered around being careful not to make and quick left turns until his blood pressure dropped.

And yet this seems par for his course. He says in college he used to live above a rugby club around the corner from an Italian sandwich shoppe/restaurant. Every day he would pick up one of the Italian place's huge, two-foot subs, stacked high as all hell on his way home from class. It seems they were under the impression he was very poor and was feeding a family on one of these sandwiches a night. Eventually he told the family who owned the place that, no, he was just buying himself a cheap dinner.

They did not believe him. Who could blame them? I mean who would expect a little Jewish boy from the suburbs to eat like an entire Italian family? After a while they just had him sit down at a table and slowly watched him demolish several feet of meat and roughage.

After that, there were just some days my dad didn't have to pay for his sandwich. Or he'd be invited to sit at the Family Table in the restaurant. Some nights he'd just be straight invited to eat with the Carpochos and they'd watch him polish off a whole lasagna.

Honestly, I'd call bullshit, but after the things I've eaten I can't bring myself to question him. We are a family of hungry, hungry hippos.

I'm the pink one, obviously.