That's What You Think: The Gut Instinct

Published 12.04.01 in The Heights, Boston College


By Annie Barrett

It's a mass of skin. Massive skin. A small pinch of flab, a huge lump of fat or an entire spare tire of genuine lard. You know, depending on the person. It's there for you through thick and thin – well, thick, definitely. You can consult it when necessary (24/7), punch it when you're feeling down (round) – and other people can poke it for sheer delight (disgust).

It's your gut (YG). All yours. Go ahead, jiggle it. Isn't it gross? That skin is just hanging off of you. How could you let yourself go like this? You are such a piece of crap. Well, more than a piece. A lot more.

Now repeat the word silently. Gut. Gut. Gut gut gut gut gut gut. Agghhh!

You all have something of a basic gut. It ebbs and flows. Well, that's pretty graceful imagery. Guts sit motionlessly, festering in a hopeless, lifeless, fat-filled universe of their own. They're in a dimension beyond reality.

And so sometimes, it's hard to really relate to YG. You disagree a lot, throw things at each other, and usually resolve things with a food fight. That's mature.


You: I'm going to put large quantities of Cheetoes and regular cola in you. Don't expand. I hate you.

YG: Yeah, sure. Whatever. You're such a moron. Just don't eat them.

You: Dude, you're lying (tip gargantuan Cheeto bag above mouth, "drink" chips).

YG: What the f—k? What the f—k?


When you're feeling more ready to join that world where other humans actually exist, you complain about YG verbally, sometimes so that people will reassure you otherwise.


"Oh God, look at my huge, huge gut." Please tell me I'm skinny.

"What gut?" I'm so smooth. Eww, gross. That is one huge, huge gut.


Sometimes the complaining is justified, such as when you sit in class at painful 90-degree angles, unable to concentrate due to – you guessed it – the girth of the gut.


Professor: "You'd better be writing all of this down because it is important."

You: This is the nastiest thing ever encountered. My gut is spilling over my jeans. I can't do anything about it. It's still there … (feels around) Yep, still there.


It's at this point that you begin to wonder what life is really all about if you have to sit this way, holding your fat in your tightly-clenched hands. Gross, why are you touching it?

But the meaning of life is discussed every other week in this space. I thought I'd give everyone a break. You're welcome. You're also welcome for sparing you a graphic this week (don't check the top of C1).

Go forth, eat much and always follow your "gut feeling."

And be nice to YG. Take it out for ice cream, or ice skating. Eww … ice-skating uniforms ... with guts.

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