Breakfast With Maury

by Greg Morrow

Back image courtesy Public Domain
Few things drive a grown man to weep. For some it can be a death, for others a child’s birth. Marriage seems to be a pretty popular time for the obligatory tear. Outside of that it is rare that man, perhaps because of social norms, will let the ducts loose and lubricate the old peepers. Today was one of those rare times. Breakfast had been on the horizon all week and now because of the sickening addiction, it was going to be missed. Eggs, gone, bacon (the favorite of all the fatty meats), gone even the obligatory morning cup of coffee, gone. Addiction can be a scary thing. It can tear people apart leaving but shells of themselves in its wake. This was no different. What could cause such a need that would make even the simple dream of a tasty, nitrate filled meal, so completely unattainable? The answer is simple; the answer is Maury.

My child is morbidly obese, please help!

Yes Maury Povich, husband to Connie Chung, owner of a newspaper, mogul of the television. It was his hour and no pan of cured meat could distract from his reign over mid morning programming. Not now, not ever. The quest for Maury proved to be one of such merit that starving all together would pale by comparison. Lord, have mercy on the soul of a Maury fan, for they cannot help themselves.

As the credits rolled and the banner across the bottom of the screen proudly proclaimed the shows topic “My child is morbidly obese, please help” it was clear the right choice had been made. Don’t fret, the irony that would have been eating the fattiest of meats while watching the fattest of children is not lost. It would have been an awestruck walk down the path of irony, but again what was done was done, and the cards of fate hand not lent such a kind hand. Staring blankly as a parade of toddlers marched themselves down the stage to meet the crowd, each clad in less fabric than the last, a revelation springs forth. Perhaps it is not food choice that affects the size of a child, personal diet can attest to this, but rather it is the quality of shirt worn. A notably odd thought, yet its simplicity rings true. From leanest to largest the clothing seems to run the gamut. Maury sporting the nicest of gold broadcloth came in the leanest all the way up to the largest child who dawned little more than a pair of basketball shorts. Yes it seems that when it comes to ones health, its better to dress it up.

Maybe it is the sense of pride from nice clothing that causes better eating. Maybe it is the lack of funds post purchase that force smaller portion sizes. Who knows? More to the point, who cares, why look a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps it is the reason the food channel and the style channel find themselves in such close proximity on the cable box. That could be a whole other article, maybe even another Maury topic. The mind races for a moment, trying desperately to wrap itself around the notion. Was a new medical discovery just uncovered? Could this be the end to an epidemic that has plagued our society for so long?

A child nutrition expert joins the panel. Seems even Maury with his lack of training and basic smut peddling ways knows when he’s in over his head and requires outside assistance. Savvy move sir, savvy indeed. One can’t help but notice that she is wearing a blazer and is quite lean. Theory seems to be holding up. Only two Tide commercials, a brief affair with credit lending and perhaps one or two rather ironic McDonalds adds (you know, given the topic of debate) left before judgment. The notion or for that matter desire for breakfast as fallen completely to the wayside.

"Maury looks lovingly at the children. His pleated slack shuffling doesn't seem awkarad at all."

Maury looks lovingly at the children. His pleated slack shuffling doesn’t seem awkward at all. Who could even notice at a time like this? The final five minutes of the show creep ever nearer. Judgment time it seems has arrived. As the doctor delivers the usual dribble about quantity control and healthy options the mind drifts to fantasy. What would be the reaction to this lack luster advice? Would there be a fight? Might one of the mothers launch into a rage filled attack on the woman whom has now called her children fat and brought her parenting skills into question? In a word, no. After all this was not the Springer show. There will be no little person stripper popping out of a hole in the ground. There will be now knock down drag out fight for stage supremacy, a battle that unchangingly results in a bouncer with few words and the requisite Mag-light coming out the victor. Not here, this was classy television. An Asian news anchor with a now second-rate career would not tolerate such debauchery, much less marry into it. It seems Connie knew what we all understood to be true. Maury was a class act and the guests no matter how feverish, would most likely just sit and smile. Still, a certain unrest boils within.

Did it really take an hour to unveil the same advise given thirty years ago? The toddlers themselves seem unsatisfied with the lack of information, and they’re three. The unrest gains momentum. Why not bring something new to the table? A new angle would be refreshing. Speak of the shirts? Damn you she-devil the answer is in the shirts. You mastered ten years of medical training and observation; you must have noticed the phenomenon. How could you be so blind? The unrest has flung itself head on into rage. Screaming blindly at the television seems to have no effect on her babbling. Something must be done. There must be some recourse for this level of idiocy. A society cannot allow its meager minded to control its behavior. Shame on you Maury, Shame on you and your beautiful shirt.

For a brief moment vengeance is plotted. A nasty letter seems so blasé, more drastic measures must be taken. Physical threats are heathenish and illegal, there appears to be only one available action. Hit him where it hurts. Hit the pocket book. The channel is changed, thank you Neilson ratings, that’ll show him. A quick flick finds the television blaring Price is Right. For a moment there is new hope. As for now, it seems a slot has opened up to cook the bacon. But take this as warning. That bacon will be done in ten minutes and then its up to you Drew Carey…. DON”T SCREW IT UP!

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