"Kit Reed - The Last Big Sin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Kit)

Think detox. Think results guaranteed.

"Yeesh," I said on the first day.

When the guy in front of me shook his head his jowls flopped and the ground shook. He said, "Pretty
much." His name is Nigel Wilson, and his nickname, that no longer fits? I saw what he put down on the
form. Nickname: Slim. "It's what the Reverend wants from all of us. Thinness."

Yitch, I thought as he waddled up to the Armed Response box where the nurse-trainers were waiting.
I'm never going to let myself get that bad. But I had, and I did.

The evaluation makes getting into the Green Berets look like an ice cream social and the physicals at Fort
Benning and Parris Island look like church. There's the carbolic shower; one of the Rev's trusties comes
in with a loofah and scrubs all those parts you've gotten too bulky to reach. OK, I'm here because I hate
myself for being fat. I hate it and I am ashamed. You sit in the waiting room for hours. And then and only
then, when you are at rock bottom, the entrance interview.

"Look at yourself. You are disgusting." The Reverend Earl fixed me with those eyes. If you want to know
the color, look into the heart of an iceberg and look hard. "Jeremy Hale. What do you want?"

Everything in me welled up and I croaked, "Thinner!" I wanted to look amazing and live in the clubhouse
and testify on the infomercials as advertised, and maybe I wanted Nelda to come begging so I could
blow her off, but I was too beaten down to say.

"And what will you give to get it?"

He was my leader; I would do anything he said. I said what he wanted. "Everything."

Thinner, yes, but at what cost? Oatmeal at five, take seconds and they axe your lunch. It's pathetic,
grown man like me reduced to stealing food. Scrub your mess tray with sand and do a mile on the track
before the motivational speech; step aerobics and encounter group followed by work detail. Tiger's Milk
for lunch, laced with the Reverend's special Herbal Compound. I don't know what-all they blenderize but
you end up starved. Meanwhile the Rev's hand-picked favorites lounge, scarfing Mai Tais and lobster
salads before taping, greasing each other's lats and triceps in preparation for the shoot. The chosen put
on gold thongs and parade for the camcorders daily while I pull duty in the silo or in the herb processing
shed followed by dinners that would make a rabbit puke.

I will spare you the details of the daily humiliationтАФhuge mirror, naked youтАФsordid food diaries, where
you list every bite you'll eat in a given week, with confessions and public shamings if you stray. Oh yeah,
the motivational bikini trunk show, like any of those mink thongs will ever fit. Plus random cavity searches
and sermons and inspirational hymns piped in nonstop while we slaves to body image mix the Reverend's
Herbal Compound.

I do everything he wants! So why am I shambling around out here in the wilderness with my skin hanging
off me like an extra coverall, while up at the clubhouse тАж Oh, never mind. To make it worse we're
separated from the women by a half mile of desert, so there are no saving graces in this place, no sweet
touches, no woman's hand like a scented scarf trailing across your face. Nothing but hunger and the
discipline and the Reverend Earl promises that we sold everything to pay for, the glamour of life in the
Afterfat. And all I can think about is food. I'm hungry all the time.