Though Bobby Beamon’s middle school chants of “Fatty, fat,fat” no longer described the stunning Noreen, she could hear them echo across the years of sweat and salads when she came face to face with the personal monster of her childhood closet, Toledo Honest Weight.
When that dude disappears he barely leaves footprints.
Dearest Tom, I begin this letter by having nothing new, nothing diverting, nothing interesting to add, but to say that in my own wistful–incessantly wistful–state, I am ashamed of my own forthrightness which causes those who step on my scale–nay, my plank–such torment, such utter torment that I curse my own artful innocence, the beauty of biology, and my talents which are equally beyond comparison or description.
“That tells me what I would weigh in Ohio,” the blonde said, on her way into her after hours ‘audition’ with the ‘producer’ for the part that was really hers to blow, so to speak, “but I want to know what I weigh here.”
Archeologists have discovered the origin of the phrase “Holy Toledo”.
L.A. had always been a superficial town, but the new ordinance requiring citizens to weigh themselves each day on the way into work was really a bit much.
She never understood why there was a scale in the foyer at her bank; but she dutifully weighed herself every time she went in.
Getting onto the scale would blow his cover, his race was only visiting this planet.
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