M-m-m-m, you can really taste the deprivation!

I started a new diet a week ago, and I’ve already lost six pounds.

That got your attention. Two things are guaranteed to keep you reading—a diet plan that really works and surefire sex tips to make you a tiger in the sack when the lights go out.

So that makes me an expert—on diet, sadly.

Thanks to the holidays and then two months of out-of-town visitors who insisted on watching me eat and drink too much, my weight had crept up into that uncomfortable range. I don’t need a scale to tell me when it’s time to diet. I just take a walk. When my thighs start rubbing on each other like sophomores at a sock hop, it’s time.

I won’t tell you my starting weight. Let’s just say I’m not one of those guys who looks like he swallowed a fourth grader. Maybe just the kid’s book bag. If you had to describe me to the police you’d probably say, “Well, he was a bit on the pudgy side—but still strikingly handsome!” And you’d be half right, which is about par for the typical eye witness.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably tried just about every diet that’s ever been published—although I never got around to the coffee enema diet. After all, who wants to lie in bed all night and listen to a rectum that never sleeps?

None of those other diets ever worked for me, so I decided to try my own.

First, a definition: A diet means not putting something in your mouth that you’d really like to put in your mouth. In other words, all diets are regimens of deprivation.

And my theory is: If you’re gonna go the deprivation route, embrace the horror and go gonzo about it!

Most diets tell you to take it slow, one step at a time. If you normally eat two cookies after lunch, limit it to one, they say. And be patient.

But, hey, a cookie denied is a cookie denied. While dieting, you don’t walk away from the table feeling good about the cookie you ate. You feel lousy about the one you left behind.

My plan? Go gonzo! Don’t eat any cookies. Or any other “empty” calories like candy, mayonnaise, or alcohol. (It hurts to include that last item on the “empty” list. One man’s hollow is another man’s holy.)

In fact, don’t eat three square meals a day—eat only one. And make it a small one. After all, you’re in gonzo mode.

I start the day with black coffee. By midmorning, when I feel I might bite the mailman, I’ll eat half a grapefruit, unsweetened.

Lunch is minimal. A couple carrots. Or some tuna right out of the little can. Maybe a cracker or two to help it go down.

Dinner is when the magic happens. Maybe a small cheeseburger or a chicken breast. But no shakes, malts, or Cokes. In fact, I drink nothing all day but black coffee and water. (Hey, it’s not supposed to taste like a banquet. It’s supposed to taste like deprivation.)

When mealtime rolls around, imagine you’re in a monastery and then give the other monks your food, because they’re hungrier than you are. Monks are into deprivation for the long haul, but you’re a gonzoid. Get in, accomplish the mission, and get on with your life.

Don’t try to trick yourself into thinking it’s not going to be that bad. It’ll be bad. It’ll be gonzo-quality bad.

But not for long.

Total calories for the day? No more than 800 or so—less than half the recommended total for a guy. And once you start getting used to the deprivation after a few days, even less than that.

“But what about the hunger pains?” you ask.

Well, let’s not get all junior-high dramatic here. Hunger may be unpleasant, but it isn’t pain. The next time your stomach “hurts” with hunger, go slam your finger in the door and tell me which one demands your full attention.

But after a day or two of my gonzo diet, go stand on the scale whenever you feel hungry. See that diminishing number? It won’t take long for you to associate hunger with reward, not deprivation.

And then there’s the cold water. Lots of it.

Ice water not only fills you up and staves off hunger, it actually helps you lose weight. Simple logic—the definition of one dietary calorie is the amount of energy it takes to raise one kilogram of water one Celsius degree. In gonzo-speak: Ice water enters your body at about 35 degrees and exits at about 98.6 degrees. You’ll burn about 140 calories just converting a gallon of ice water into pee.

Your body can do that even while you watch the ball game. And that doesn’t even include all the calories you’ll burn dashing to the can between innings.

Of course, as with all diets, my gonzo diet has its drawbacks—chief among which is the grumpiness. Is it just me, or did the world start getting really annoying about a week ago? Even this article has me peeved. Punctuation pisses me off. Sometimes I throw stuff, and my wife makes me pick it up, which is exercise. More calories burned.

But, hey, I’m losing weight. Six pounds this week. If I keep going for another week, I’ll be near my target weight. If I can last a week beyond that, I’ll start getting close to a normal Body Mass Index (BMI), and then I can stop calling all those BMI scientists idiots for coming up with such annoying numbers.

Soon, if you had to describe me to the police, you’ll be able to say, “Well, he had near-normal BMI—but still strikingly handsome, for a scowling curmudgeon!” And you’d be two-thirds right, which is more than you can expect from the typical eye witness.

So anyway, that’s my tried-and-true gonzo diet plan. Take it or leave it. Your choice.

Maybe next time I’ll give you some surefire sex tips to make you a tiger in the sack when the lights go out.

And wipe that sarcastic smirk off your face. I’m not in the mood.

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