Alright, I have a month until me and Biggy Trainy go to Michigan to sit on a dock and get sunned, and these 30 days are as good any others to try and get rid of the spare tire and the buttermilk slack and the skin factory that is my jawline.

Though many of the world's worst doublechins have been known to sometimes continue up toward the eyeline (thus reducing the area of the face capable of expression to a few square inches, and leaving the rest awarble), my new "Chinstrap" model chinsack goes a step beyond by continuing past the eyeline, into my scalp, where it eats my hair.

Though it's reached a sort of perfection this month, I must destroy it before it swallows my cerebellum. Carrots, ho.