Start anything. Although I did gain five pounds. It's the five pounds that get you. Gain fifteen pounds and no one will notice. Gain ten, same. Gain five and your clothes get too tight and your gut pushes out over your belt because you still use the stretched out hole. Ten pounds and you start wearing the clothes that are normally too big, that you keep with the clothes that are normally too small. Fifteen pounds you get all new clothes. So the too big clothes and the new clothes look OK, no one notices that you now need to wash your ass with a sponge on a stick. But that five pound mark... urcgh. M&M Mars are evil, corrupt bastards who need to be murdered to death with chocolate, and/or nougat and maybe some peanuts and caramel... and I'll be right back... Actually the reason I'm fat is heavy and consistent drinking, because my kids cry and my wife left me. Happy now? You aren't going to say shit about that are you? Oh no! But binging on Halloween candy after three weeks crammed into an airplane for fourteen hours a day and spending the rest in conference rooms listening to the assholes who didn't travel to the meeting yell at their dog over the speakerphone during your presentation? THAT GUY HAS A PROBLEM! Heroin. Any fucking day now. Swear to God.