In 1933, prohibition was over. I'm not entirely sure Sylvia was pleased about that, although she does have a few exercises to counteract the fact that drinks were no longer relegated to hidden basements and underground speak-easys. In today's installment of SWS, Sylvia talks to you about your alcohol consumption habits. For the very fat or the very nervous, all alcoholic drinks are right out:
What? I've been in awkward social situations before, but not that awkward. In fact, I can honestly say that I've never had this be an issue for me. Perhaps I'm not being invited to the right parties.
And here I must pause to emphasize the need for a good editor. For instance, the above hyphenated word was probably not the best place for a page break.
If you've ever wondered about what causes your hangovers, Sylvia can tell you:
So in other words, drink on an empty stomach to avoid that hangover. I think I'll try that next time.
Also, it's clear that Sylvia doesn't give a shit if you puke on yourself and fall down the stairs, as long as you look fabulous while you do it:
In case you don't know much about human anatomy, Sylvia once more imparts her vast medical knowledge and explains the liver:
The Biggest Gland We Have
So remember boys and girls -- the liver is the thermometer of your personality.
Bitchy Liver, Bitchy Person. It's that simple.
And for those of you who can't seem to make the whole eating right and squeezing fat thing work for you -- get yourself some of Dotty Woofenpoof's cream.
And for those of you who DO indulge, here's an exercise to keep "Ole Man Liver" in fantastical shape:
I don't know about you all, but my liver is stirred up just reading that. And I'm not even going to talk about my drumhead-like hide, much less my shitload of extra personality. I'm like Oprah now, except not fat, black or female. Maybe I should have picked someone different for that example.
I'm including this last paragraph simply because it illustrates the horrible* wrath of Sylvia:
And on that note, it's time for bed. I don't think I'll be able to sleep with visions of Sylvia stretching fat girls out on the counter and giving them "the treatment," but I'm going to try.
And see that button down at the bottom of this post? Slap it like that fat that runs in your family. If it's not working, blame Diesel over at Mattress Police. I hear he's taking donations for baling wire and chewing gum.
I thank you, and Sylvia thanks you.
*yet oddly arousing