The Great Diet Delusion

Good day, meatbags.

Open any social feed and witness the reenactment of some culinary Book of Revelation.

The Fourth Horseman rides a Peloton, holding adaptogenic mushroom goo.

Angels blow trumpets made of BPA-free bamboo straws.

The wicked get drowned in a sea of high-fructose corn syrup yet the righteous ascend to macro-balanced heaven through ring-light.

Congratulations! You've just been marketed salvation in a recyclable tube.

You hide behind a stale croissant which resembles contraband.

Their blaster-green smoothies vaporize your simple joys.

Perfect. The machine hums, monetizing your guilt per scroll.

Today we end this charade with both fire and philosophy while sprinkling parmesan as a reward.

Epicurus 101

Epicurus, an Athenian landlord of chill, presented a peaceful way to live through contentment that did not involve kale boot camp.

His pantry? Bread, olives, cheese and friends who didn't judge his carb intake. No "Whoop" strap required.

He divided desires into three groups of needs:

1. Natural & Necessary. The snack pack your body actually needs.
2. Natural & Unnecessary. Optional delights (hello, tiramisu).
3. Neither Natural Nor Necessary. Social-media shame traps masquerading as wellness.

You should remember that hierarchy when some influencer tries to sell you electrolyte armpit patches.

A Brief Leafy Timeline

• 400 CE: Roman peasants feed kale to livestock. Nobody retweets it.
• 1972: Kale finds its way back into the world through the eyes of hippies and livestock files formal complaints.
• 2011: Brooklyn cafés "massage" kale with coconut oil. Price triples, moral smugness increases by 900%.

Behold the pinnacle of capitalism: charging blockchain fees for crunchy regret.

• 2025: Kale chips get their own NFT collection. The taste is still like sun-dried sandpaper.

Meet the Nutritional Boogeymen

The Seed-Oil Inquisitor

Confiscates your salad dressing like it's contraband plutonium.

He carries beef tallow in a hip-flask as if it is his emergency survival supply.

The Biohacker Bro Supreme™

Health according to him means cold plunges and red light penile therapy along with IV vitamin injections that resemble Marvel villains' names.

The Celery-Juice Prophetess

Begins her day at 4 a.m. to livestream a green sermon "Celery is liquid divinity."

Sells a $79 PDF to teach people about how to "raise the bile of abundance".

The Macro-Counting Monk

Sees love languages as protein grams. The wedding cake planning happens through MyFitnessPal.

Pain Is the Product

Modern exercise has turned into public penance as we witness the evolution from ThighMasters to VR Zombie Burpees.

You cannot simply move since you must livestream your extreme third-degree quad burn, hashtag it #BeastMode, then purchase collagen for healing post-workout damage you paid to inflict.

Epicurean Fitness Rule: Whenever your workout resembles a violent standoff between your body and ego then you are doing it wrong.

Garden, dance, wrestle your dog. Stop worshipping cortisol!

Subscription Suffering

Capitalism recognized that the easiest way to sell salvation is to create the sin first.

A new wave of detox diets and "anti-inflammatory" products emerged alongside mobile applications which criticize your breathing patterns.

From his tomb, Epicurus whispers:

"Tranquility is free. Why are you on a payment plan?"

Time for some real talk. You more product than consumer in this stomach-churning circus.

Dr. Evil's Epicurean Reset Toolkit™

(Imaginary, priceless, deliciously table-free)

• SnackAttack™

  A wearable that plays smooth jazz every time you contemplate feeling guilty about bread. Users experience random shoulder movement along with a rush of carb-based happiness.

• ScrollAway: Gut Edition

  Motion sensor activates when you walk into a "superfoods" section at the grocery store to lock your phone. Warning: may trigger mild FOMO withdrawal symptoms. Those pass.

• Zenitol Lite

  Homeopathic sarcasm pellets which dissolve when placed under the tongue help block smartwatch notification dopamine spikes. Side effect: naps.

• InfluencOff Digestive

  Keychain siren makes a loud shriek when people mention "cleanse", "synergistic enzymes" or "anti-nutrient". Effective radius: one dinner party.

• BiteBack Journaling App

  Daily prompt: "Did that meal taste good?"

  If yes, it auto-archives your macro spreadsheet for 24 hours and plays a victory kazoo. Incompatible with Spreadsheet Fundamentalists.

When Diets Went Full Dada

• 1918: The "Chew 32 Times" diet-gnaw food into oblivion for weight loss. Dentist involvement questionable.
• 1920s: Marlboro pitches waist-whittling smokes. Epicurus facepalms so hard he invents the first vape.
• 1975: The "Sleeping Beauty" plan. Take sedatives so you can't eat. Freud facepalms.
• 1990s: The Grapefruit Hegemony. Entire Hollywood elite smells vaguely citrus.
• 2020s: Liver King Era. Eat raw organs, grow abs, acquire lawsuits. Circle of life.

If history teaches anything, it is that fads burn bright, crash hard and leave embarrassing screenshots.

Dinner Party Simulation

Scene: Overpriced bistro with reclaimed-wood menu boards.

Cast:

• You — recovering macro martyr.
• Epicurus — patron saint of chill.
• Coach Viper — shirtless dopamine peddler in board shorts.

Climax:

Coach Viper orders boiled chicken.

Epicurus orders the house red, bread, olives and unfiltered camaraderie.

You wobble between the two like a moral Roomba until Epicurus smiles:

"Pleasure minus regret equals wisdom. Eat."

You dunk bread in olive oil. The sky does not collapse.

Coach Viper livestreams his exit.

Five-Step Escape Plan

1. Audit Desires

   Label every craving: survival, delight or Instagram stunt. Cull the stunts.

2. De-Influence Your Feed

   Unfollow anyone whose smoothie costs more than your electricity bill.

3. Cook Ancestor Food

   Stew, soup, one-pot wonders. Your gut biome will draft "thank you" notes.

4. Move Like a Mammal, Not a Machine

   Dance awkwardly, stretch luxuriously, walk intentionally.

5. Toast Reality

   Raise an actual glass (sugar included) to the miraculous fact you're not optimized out of existence yet.

Closing Sermon

You will die. Kale won't stop it. Neither will crimson-lit testicles or a spreadsheet of ketones.

The tombstone won't read:

"Here lies Casey. Completed Whole30 thrice. Died with glutes on fleek."

Your final Polaroid will capture laughter, not macros.

Regret tastes worse than gluten.

So unclench. Fry something. Sip slowly. Feel your shoulders drop.

Epicurus is still side-eyeing your celery, but he's saving a seat at his table.

Remember my sticky-note wisdom:

"Let it fry. Let it brie. Let them detox. You? You savor."

I'm off to miss every trend and love every bite.