Behold...

This was my last beer. Gaze upon its size, bottle volume, and angry gargoyle. That, friends, was a tasty beverage. It was also the last stop on the bus tour of tubby guts before my forced cancer diet. I look back at it fondly, mostly because I'm proud to know that I was coherent enough to take this photo, but I don't exactly miss it.

The thing with The Drugs(TM) is that there are things that you are no longer aloud to do and things that you no longer remotely want to do. Case in point: hooch. Yes, I do miss coming home from work, cracking one open, and playing Street Fighter until my main squeeze gets home. But after a few rounds of chemo, the thought of ingesting something that not only has a hopped flavor but also potentially makes me vomit (but that's a stretch, my tolerance is that of a rhino) (sorry, not to brag) sounds about as enticing as a bowl of Cheetos swimming in vinegar and grape jelly.

Yes, there are certain restrictions that I have had to adjust to after beginning The War on Cancer. Sobriety is one of them. As well as limited amounts of caffeine and lunch meat that must be toasted before serving. You'd think for as much as I tended to drink on weekends and the vast amount of coffee that I drink that it would be tough. Actually, my next point makes it easy. And by that, I mean that most food looks vile and disgusting now.

I eat a lot of peanut butter. Tons, even. In fact, I have a jar of reduced fat Jif and a loaf of bread in my office at work at all times. My coworkers used to poke fun at me because of this (they now come begging for food). I'm also a big pretzel guy, though there isn't anything more to say about that. Now, take my two favorite foods and fuse them together. Three months ago, it was the perfect storm. Just looking at them now makes my stomach turn. So it goes in Chemoville; what's up is down and what's yummy is putrid.

The plus side: Hamburger Helper is still really, really good.