On Why my third gutnipple is keepin' the man down

Well, Chunks gave me 5 topic ideas, and I intend to write about them all. So, the one with the least things to say about is how my third nipple is keeping me from enjoying life at the pool, and since I already did a post tonight, I can get away with a short post on this one.
Well, sadly, I blame the continuation of my obesity on nipplegate 2007. I knew something was wrong on Saturday, as I could feel this sort of little lump forming on my stomach directly south of my heart, where my belly starts to jut out in that oh-so-sexy way that drives all of you chubby chasers wild with lust. It's ok, ladies, throw those soiled panties away, this gut ain't going anywhere now!
By Sunday, the thing was a visible lump, but that was it. However, on Monday, the fucking thing metastasized into this... being. So, being the classy lad I am, I would check to make sure the coast was clear in my office and then whip up my shirt and examine the thing. I can't tell if it's just weird zit that was meant for my head but morphed onto my love bucket, or if it's an ingrown hair that just got fed up and wanted to off itself. You see, it's not like some sort of zit on my nose, where I can just squeeze the fucker, blot up the bleeding with some toilet paper, and windex the mirror and nobody is the wiser. You see, when you are portly like me, and I am, as I've gained back the 13 lb weight loss (but i will rise again, bitch, and don't you forget it), squeezing a zit on your gut isn't easy. And the fucker is so close to my chest, whenever I would touch it, it sent pains all the way up to my chest and I felt like pulling a Red Foxx and saying "Elizabeth! I'm coming to you" and clasping my heart because, bitch, that pain fucking radiated my chest. THEN, you can't quite grab a zit on your chest. So it's tricky. THEN, I isolate the hair I think is causing the problems and pluck it and then try to treat the thing with zit cream, but it still pokes out of my shirt like some sort of weird large nipple.
So when I find out that there is night time swimming for adults only, of course I want to be in there like a dirty shirt. But I can't be... because my shirt is already dirty with Clearasil. So there goes my weightloss dreams, because as you all know, I am all or nothing. If I can't have you, I don't want nobody baby, as Yvonne Elliman said. And I mean, I told you about the day hideousness struck, the day that the shit-headed asswipe French vet struck up a conversation in the shower after swimming in all his liver spotted glory and, bitch, I ain't having .....fuck, I can't remember the pseudonym I used.... Mike?...... saying "You should have seen the fucking inflamed nipple the motherfucker has on his gut..... it was like the big dipper, if constellations could be inflamed and pus filled."
So there goes my dreams of abs of steel, of healthy living, of joining swim meets, of shaving my legs, of water polo matches.... all gone up in smoke.. all because of my third gut-nipple.....
Pass the fucking Cheezies.