But it wouldn't be prudent.
So instead, I'll tell you about Larry's diet.
Larry is on one of those diets where he safely and responsibly lowers his carb intake during the day and loses 20 lbs over the course of two weeks. Since he has been on this diet, I've been running 50 miles a week, given up eating between meals for Lent, and I've still managed to gain SIX FUCKING POUNDS. SIX POUNDS. And don't try and suggest it's all muscle, because I don't have any. IT'S SIX POUNDS OF JEALOUSY AND INJUSTICE and it makes my pants look weird.
There is one saving grace in Larry's diets (other than the fact that he is taking care of his health and looking very handsome and is a dear person whom, I hope and pray, will live a long time as a result), and that is that late at night, the man's will is as weak as an incontinent kitten.
Given the right conditions (a glass of wine, a long day of sensible eating, and a comfortable couch) he will fall asleep sitting up, awake with a start at 2am, and gang bang a bag of animal crackers with his face.
And he will always, always, always confess.
"So last night ..." he tells me this morning. "I woke up on the couch, and in a daze I walked into the kitchen ... (Like a flight attendant, he mimes strapping a bag securely around his head) ... I strapped on the old feed bag, and just (makes a circular vacuum cleaner motion with his face) INHALED the whole thing."
"It's okay," I said. "It happens to the best of us."
"I didn't even chew!"
"I think the roof of my mouth was bleeding."