Three years ago I was a freshman just coming into Houghton College. I was afraid of hairy men, women, and starvation. After years of lusting after women and staying fit in high school, I knew there had to be changes made.
I decided that I was no longer going to try to get the babe, since I knew that this only led to my misery and trouble. I realized I could stop exercising and I no longer made an effort to hold my gut in. I let it all hang out.
Several weeks into my first semester I had an announcement to make, "I'm hungry."
"Then eat something," shouted Paul from across the hall.
"I don't have anything to eat!" I cried out.
"Then get some macaroni from the desk," Paul yelled back.
"I'm afraid," I said. I had never bought anything at the desk before, and the guys up there looked kind of dangerous sometimes.
Paul came out of his room, took me by the hand, led me up to the front desk, and said to the guy, "Hi, I'm Paul. This guy wants to buy some macaroni and cheese but he's afraid to talk to you."
The guy at the desk kind of grunted and tossed a box at us. "That'll be fifty cents."
"Umn, do you have any milk or margarine?" I asked.
"That'll be another seventy-five cents."
"See," said Paul as he walked me back to my room, "that wasn't so hard."
"I guess not," I said, "But I still don't have a pot or anything."
"Here," said Paul, "You can use mine if you give me half of the good stuff."
"What?!" I yelled.
"You use my pot, you give me half of it," he said.
"That's a crock," I screamed.

"Like you have a choice," said Paul, handing the pot to me. "Go. I'm getting hungry, and be fast about it."
I trudged down into the basement of Shen and walked into the kitchen. A sign that read, "I'm not your mother, so clean up after yourself," dangled from one of the cabinets-obviously ignored.
My box of macaroni had the name Leonardo on it. I suspected that it was going to be good because it looked good on the box. I got it started and walked over to the fridge to see where I could put my milk while I waited. Inside the fridge lived a number of things which clearly had been dead at one point, but had been slowly resurrecting over the past month. I told the things in the fridge that they were not to touch my small carton of milk. Uttering a prayer of deliverance from evil, I carefully put it in.
After I stirred the put a little more, I walked over to the TV room to see what was going on. In there, I saw one of the big dangerous guys from the far end of my floor. He was watching pro-wrestling and laughing at it and yelling and cheering. Somehow this made him less frightening.
I did some more hard work and the macaroni appeared to be done. I brought it up to Paul, who took the larger half of the macaroni and said, "Thanks," in his loud voice.
I settled in my room and basked in the glories of one of the greatest creations in the world-a good dish of macaroni. The Leonardo was a rather salty brand and I liked it. I put one of the box covers on the wall as a decoration. I decided that as a trophy of my determination to become fat, I would keep every box of macaroni I ate. A sense of accomplishment waved over me, and I slept well that night.
I'm fat now. And by poking out my belly, I got the babe. She even married me. Three hundred boxes of macaroni are on the walls surrounding me. I am thinking about taking to running, but not so much to impress babes now. I just want to be able to fit into our one-man kitchen and make macaronis. My wife Nan could do it for me, but that would be silly. To really eat macaroni I gotta make it myself.