October 24, 2010 - Breakfast

Fun fact: At my biggest I was as fat as Henry VIII.

"King size! Henry VIII's armour reveals he had a 52in girth - for which he paid a terrible price," The Daily Mail, February 2, 2009:

By his late 40s, he measured 48 inches around the middle and soon expanded to the colossal measurements of his twilight years. Peter Armstrong, the director of the Royal Armouries, describes him simply as 'an absolute monster'.

I'm a little taller, likely a bit broader in the shoulder. More oxlike.

He eventually made it to 52 inches (54 according to Wikipedia). I never quite made it to 54, but I came parlous close. Put us in a room and they'd say: Nary a groatsworth between them. Of course this is not the novelty it once was. If we are to believe news reports that show us distended bellies but no heads in side profile, a significant segment of America is about as fat as Henry VIII right now. Corn has made us regal. Not just grand, of course, but sore, and taciturn, and likely to suffer bowel disorders. As bad about our appetites, as prone to divorce and romantic self-indulgence in general, as given to sartorial excess, as likely to pick and choose our religion to suit our impulses, as reliant on self-interested advisors. TV has given us a world of Wolseys.

We are, at least, not quite as covered in pustules—Henry had one varicose ulcer on his shapely leg (they should put a warning label on tight garters) that the doctors refused to let heal, as its suppuration was considered healthful. To keep the wound open, in fact, they stuffed it with bits of gold.

Weight: 313 lbs