Evening, Ladies and Gents. It appears we have arrived at the Week One checkpoint for our silly little squabble. No doubt it’s been a challenge for our two competitors and one must presume that both are famished from a few days of going hard at it. A note: our two lardy protagonists are writing these posts independently of each other and submitting them simultaneously. Neither has any idea what the other has written. Now, lets waste not a minute further and see what the young lads have been going on about….

TRAE:

I hate everything, off top. Two days into this damn Fat Gentleman’s Wager and my cup runneth over with loathing. It’d hit a lot harder if it runneth over with some god damn beer, but nooooo. Beer’s gotta be bad for you, just like cheese and butter and all the rest of this great country’s First Ballot Hall of Fame consumables.

was a fat kid. Well, I’d lay pretty good odds that any of y’all that have had your own fits with the demon chub were also fat kids (it’s my experience that most people don’t just GET fat in their twenties. If you fat in your twenties it ain’t your first Carb Rodeo). And if you were a fat kid then you know that really, in a lot of ways, once a fat kid, always a fat kid. It’s like being an alcoholic or an addict in that way ( 6 weeks later and people at work are genuinely uncomfortable at the amount of times I’ve went back to the Office Taco Bar that they set up as a treat (look who only goes through a taco line once? This isn’t communist Russia.) Anyway, I’m now literally the fattest I’ve ever been. Six feet tall, 225 lbs. Solid size for a linebacker, sure, but I get out of the shower out of breath. An athlete I’m not. This mess got to change. Look it ain’t like this is the first time a man has been on a regiment. I know the score. For many of my adult years I’ve been able to tell people that I understand because Ia fat kid. Well, I’d lay pretty good odds that any of y’all that have had your own fits with the demon chub were also fat kids (it’s my experience that most people don’t just GET fat in their twenties. If you fat in your twenties it ain’t your first Carb Rodeo). And if you were a fat kid then you know that really, in a lot of ways, once a fat kid, always a fat kid. It’s like being an alcoholic or an addict in that way ( other comedians have noted this too ). And just like an addict will relapse, I have been known to fall plum the hell off the Fat Wagon from time to time. I’ll be doing good, man. Not even really dieting, just consistently eating responsibly, and then I go to a Friendsgiving Pot Luck and the next thing I know it’sand people at work are genuinely uncomfortable at the amount of times I’ve went back to the Office Taco Bar that they set up as a treat (look who only goes through a taco line once? This isn’t communist Russia.) Anyway, I’m now literally the fattest I’ve ever been. Six feet tall, 225 lbs. Solid size for a linebacker, sure, but I get out of the shower out of breath. An athlete I’m not. This mess got to change.

Some of you who know me may be thinking: “But Trae, how is this such a problem for you? You’re married to a personal trainer. Also, you’re a generational talent.” Well first of all you are very kind. Secondly….ha! Look I know it may seem like a man with a trainer wife struggling with his weight would be like a man with a kindergarten teacher for a wife struggling with his macaroni pictures, but it don’t work like that (macaroni’s a big problem for me too as it turns out). The reason why is because any time I’ve enlisted her services, it has turned into a fight within fifteen minutes . Tryin to talk to me like a new recruit when I pay all the bills. I be damned. Then I end up eating a goddamn bowl of hot dogs just to spite her. Look it’s a Me Problem, OK? I admit that, but the fact remains she has long since given up trying to Jillian Michaels me. So what’s a chunk to do?

Enter Corey Forrester. He’s my brother-in-dick-jokes, and a fellow fan of sloth and gluttony. In fact Corey and I have often discussed what we think is the best sin and we’re both firmly in the camp of Sloth. I mean hey if you’re a Lust man, I get it. Wrath hits from time to time. But for my money, Sloth is where it’s at. Anyway, Corey recently moved back south from New York and in doing so gained like 50 pounds or something. The South literally just makes you instantly fatter. Instant Fat, just add south. Must be the gravy. At any rate we’ve both been commiserating (another of our favorite pastimes) and someone (it was me) had the bright idea to try and motivate each other by making it a contest. So here we are.

Now, what does this have to do with Downton Abbey you ask? Well….honestly not a whole hell of a lot, other than we needed an appropriate timeframe for the contest and a milestone for the deadline, and our beloved DA was just beginning it’s final season. Also the pun. Who doesn’t love to hate a good shitty pun? Either way, we have tied the two together, and one of us will end up serving the other in a wonderfully Victorian manner as penance. I just hope this little endeavor doesn’t condition me to resent the show. Because as I mentioned earlier…hate. So much hate.

Let me tell y’all bout Corey. This son of a bitch has, so far as I can tell, yet to change a single thing in the couple of days since we started. He keeps sending me pictures of fried chicken and chili dogs and stuff that he is ostensibly eating. Now, I would just assume this was all some kind of psychological warfare, but I believe he is taking the pictures himself, and it ain’t no damn way that boy is in the presence of a chili dog without making sweet sweet digestive love to it. So he’s eating that stuff. And he wants me to know it. It’s a bold strategy, Cottons. And here’s the thing: I bet it pays off somehow. He’ll lay his ass around, half-naked, feeding himself cheese cubes like some kind of Trailer Caesar, and though it will make no sense whatsoever, one way or another, I’ll end up losing. Such is the cosmic hilarity of this retarded universe. But oh well. Onward with the farce.

Downton Review:

(NOTE: I struggled with how to approach doing both a review and an update on the fatness. I thought about trying to intertwine them, but I think I’ve settled on doing one, and then the other, that way in case both of you who read this aren’t big time Downton fans (read: peasants), you can just read the part you want to without being confused. So…that’s my rationale. I’m probably wrong. Fat people are usually stupid, too; everybody knows that.)

Why do I love this show? I’m a trailer baby from rural Tennessee. Big time football fan and beer drinker. Frat boy; alpha male; dumbass; all of the above. Not exactly the target demographic. But for whatever reason, lawd I get into it. I wanna drink tea and eat crumpets every Sunday night at 9, but I know that it ain’t sweet tea they’re into and I genuinely have no idea what in the hell a crumpet is. I bet its dry and bland. Anything that British has to be a bit of a chore. But yeah, this show is my shit. I am an unabashed anglophile, so it probably has something to do with that, but I mean how can you not be? They’re just so damn….cheeky.

So I’m not going to go over the whole damn show. I mean don’t get me wrong, I could slam whiskey and talk about this mothafuckin Downton Abbey shit with the squad all god damn night, ya feel me, but….it ain’t no sense in rehashing it all. So I’m just gonna do it one episode at a time, each week. Starting with episode one of the sixth season.

So it started with a hunting scene. It’s so hilarious to me the difference between “hunting” on this show and “hunting” where I grew up. I didn’t see nary a camo vest. And none of ’em appeared to be drunk either. Look, full disclosure, I’ve never been much of a hunter. It’s one of the many ways in which I fail as a redneck, but I don’t give a damn…that mess is silly. These boys go sit in a tree in 25 degree weather at 5 in the morning on a weekday. I don’t know if y’all recall but I’m a sloth man, god dammit. Not for me. But the Downton Abbey version of hunting…I can see how that would hit. Horses and dogs and hats and stuff. Either way, Mary fell off her horse like an idiot so the scene was a success.

Man, Mrs. Hughes on some bullshit. Look I like Mrs. Hughes, she was gangsta af with that dude that raped Anna and all but….how you gone marry my dude Carson but not wanna bust it open for him? Hell naw. She got three things: Carson. Fucked. Up. My man wasn’t having that shit. Which was good cause he’s such a laced up old stiff that for a minute there I thought he would just go along with it. But naw. Kept it 100. Respect, Carson. (I have no idea why this particular paragraph went a little more urban in tone. I’m hungry; just go with it.)

The Dowager up to her old tricks. That is, railing against change with the ferocity of Corey tearing into a bag of Frito-Lay Munchies (side note: I’d like to kill the sumbitch that decided that Cheetos, Doritos, and Sun Chips needed damn PRETZELS to really tie it all together. Really, dude? Really?? Asshole.) Her and Isabelle is at odds (surely not, you say. Hard to believe, I know) over the local hospital being bought out by a corporate one. I have to imagine this is really just a way to get ol Dr. Bowtie back in the mix. Whatever. I’m not particularly into it so far but hey if it keeps my homegirl Lady Grantham steady quipping then I’m all for it. Seriously y’all the Dowager Countess is the fucking DMX of withering quips.

Mary’s in a spot of bother (look at me with the slang, why I’m a regular Benedict Cumberbatch), on account of her old whorin ways. I’m starting to think ol Julian Fellowes (the showrunner) ain’t much for whorin’. Every time a woman on this show has done a little whorin around that mess has bit her in the ass something fierce. Hell this ain’t even Mary’s first go-round with it. One thing I don’t understand about this storyline, which admittedly may just be getting started, is that Lord Grantham handled that shit like such a G. Just knocked that business right out. That’s weird to me because since when is that dude totally competent? I mean I like Robert but yeah…that scene just felt off. Too easy. I dunno, we’ll see (maybe).

Speaking of Julian Fellowes, why does he hate Anna?! That girl, she’s ALWAYS going through some shit. Not to mention she’s married to Bates to begin with. I don’t hate Bates, but I mean….dude definitely outkicked his coverage. Also he murders a lot, so there’s that. And on that note, what the hell is going on there? Some rando just confessed to that dude’s murder? Maybe I’m forgetting something from last season (I tend to do that; I’ve just go so many stories, y’all), but I’m totally lost on that one. I have to assume that will get addressed more too.

They also continue cutting back on the staff. This economy, amirite, aristocrats? No underbutler? Two maids? What is this shit, Belgium? Brutal. Anyway, another thing I don’t remember from last season: was Danka always the worst? I don’t remember that. I remember her like, lying about chicken broth (truly this show is the height of drama), but that was about it right? Am I forgetting something? I’m probably forgetting something. Whatever the case, she sure was bitching it up this week. What is the rationale for doing that? Just telling everybody they’re gonna get fired just to fuck with them? Did she think the Dowager wouldn’t find out? My girl the DC knows all, ho. I hope she gets slapped, very Britishly, at least once.

Ah, Daisy. Bless her heart.

The last thing I’ll say is this: if Tom is truly written out of the last season, that bums me out. Tom was one of my favorites. A militant low-class liberal who landed the Earl’s hottest daughter. Started at the bottom now he here. My man. I’m sure he’ll turn up in the finale or something though. Or, knowing Fellowes, die tragically in a fire. That would be about right. I guess we’ll just have to find out.

That’s all for this week. Back to hating everything.

COREY:

I’m literally writing this while eating a ham sandwich. In the past few days I have changed my lifestyle a whopping zero percent. Actually, that may not be true.. I think I have gotten fatter since Sunday. Over the past few weeks I actually haven’t been doing THAT bad as far as diet is concerned but I gotta tell ya, the second it entered my mind that I was going to HAVE TO start living better to win some pithy contest, my mind went in to full “Aw naw, Hell naw” mode. I guess I don’t like feeling like Im being forced to do something. I don’t like it when I’m not in complete control. You know, this probably stems from my days in the church when the pastor woul…. you know what, I’m gonna save that for the long couch. Back to the fatness.

Sunday night for the Downton Premire I decided to have one last blow out-Anything and everything was up for grabs. That day I ate cookies and milk, brownies and milk, Milk and crackers, 3 baked potatoes (God as my witness), A chicken sandwich, and the full Hot Cakes meal from McDonald’s (If I’m being honest, this breakfast all day mess is going to be the end of me). I watched the premiere (It hit, but more on that later) called it a night, and awoke the next day feeling as though I was ready to take on the world.. or at least that fat asshole Trae.

Considering pictures are worth a thousand words, ill just let this one do the talking for what happened shortly after I woke up on day one of The Downton Flabbey Challenge:

Oh yeah buddy… Fried ass chicken bayba! And Sweet lord it was fire! I’ll be honest with you, I think Trae and I have sort of a Tortoise and The Hare situation going on right now. He’s probably busting his ass to stay on some ridiculous regimen, (which is BULLSHIT BECAUSE HIS WIFE IS A TRAINER YALL!!!!) and in the meantime, yeah.. Im slacking a little bit.. But heres the thing: You know who’s gonna get tired in the end? Thats right.. the fat ass hare (Yeah, Trae.. we get it, theres no way I can be the Hare because I’m just so very bald. Did he make that joke? Bet money he made that joke). Trae is going to get super sick of eating plant food come week six that he will fall off the wagon harder than Daryl Strawberry in a back alley dice-game. Mean while, spring will be arriving and I will get the natural inclination, as us single guys do, that it is time to shed a few pounds so I will look tip-top come speedo season. It’s biological, you can’t fight it. I still like my odds….. boy this Ham sandwich is hittin, boy. Skeew!

Downton review:

Ok, so the episode starts off with Lord Grantham and his merry band of Aristocrats taking off for a hunting trip. It appears that last season when Isis (timely name for a dog, Mr. Fellowes) died, Robert decided to replace the old gal with literally every other dog there has ever been. There were like, 300 GD dogs set loose in them woods. I don’t exactly know what they were hunting, and I’m fully aware of a dogs benefit in the woods, but it seems to me like after say, 75 of the sumbitches, whatever you are trying to hunt is gonna take the hell off and hide.. thats just me.. seems like it would cause a touch of a ruckus.

Now fast forward a touch and we are in the servants quarters and Miss Hughes confides in Ms. Patmore that, although she is engaged to Mr. Carson, she may not be down with everything that marriage entails (i.e. getting that ass smacked). This portion immediately confirmed to me what I’ve been believing for a while: The 20’s were stupid. Now a days, I can swipe right on a broad and be playing heels to Jesus in the bathroom of a Chili’s within 2-3 business days. Never marry her, and never see her again. You’re telling me that in 1925 a brother could get married to a lady and not get so much as a weenie kiss? Miss me with that bullshit, past.

Let’s see, what else? Oh.. Mary has done some whoring as per usual and some saucy little gal with a cockney accent came knocking on the doors of Downton crying “Blackmail”. This made me more upset than I already was that Tom wasn’t there (he moved to America) because you KNOW my man would be steady gettin’ naked with this working class gal within about 10-15 minutes of her arrival.

I’ll address Tom while we are slightly on the subject. It really bums me out that Tom isn’t going to be around Downton. By far the only character I related to. Every scene that Tom was in felt like what I have to go through at Thanksgiving dinner every year. Just sitting there being the only sumbitch who believes what I believe and getting mercilessly shit on for it. Really hope that guy comes back.

Daisy went absolutely HAM, ya’ll. I mean, it was totally uncalled for and that bitch should damn well know her place.. but lord it was sassy as all Hell!

Mosely remains my favorite character. He makes me smile, he makes me cry, and it makes me happy that he is getting some regular ass. I’ve really enjoyed the character development. Seeing him go from village sad-sack to confident gentleman has been a treat.

The police came and gave Anna some good news regarding the murder charges but I have GOT to feel like this will not be the end of this malarky. Anna and Bates simply cannot seem to catch a break and as gross as is it is for me to see two people in love, I want these kids to make it for some reason. I think it’s because Bates looks JUST LIKE Ina Garten from The Barefoot Contessa and she is my boo thang (Ya’ll thought my gayness was limited to The BBC? Hardly). I do have a prediction for how their story line will end according to how Julian Fellowes seems to work: Anna and Bates are acquitted of all charges and proven innocent. Knowing what they have been through and aware of the life debt he owes Bates, Lord Grantham awards the couple a healthy severance and sends them off to an early retirement…. 3 years later Anna contracts the first case of Aids ever reported and in a fit of rage eats Bates.

Thats really all I have for now. Tune back in next week as I eat an entire rack of ribs and cry through my pain that we will never see Lady Sybil again…. it still hurts so very much.

DREW:

I don’t really need to diet. I have superior genes and only rarely get plump- usually from a 6-9 month “stint” where I do dope shit like drink beer with diplomats. Then it goes away.

Anyway, I’m not part of this wager. I just want attention and know Corey’s password. He is currently at hospital (is that how the Brits say it?) with his poor granny. He asked me to do some edits for the blog. I’m not going to but here’s a pic of me looking great.

SHOW REVIEW:

Look at my sweet stache. Fuck the Brits.