My Cheatin’ Wife

Jameson Gregg through his clever writing is helping me lose weight.

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I suspected my wife was fooling around behind my back. Recently, I found smoking-gun evidence and she confessed. Suspicion confirmed.

The trouble all started when she watched Oprah on TV one afternoon. I cringe when she watches Oprah. Some new diet or exercise regimen is always in my near future.

Sure enough, she announced we were going on the “clean gut” diet. The next day, Kroger’s produce section must have gone barren because our kitchen counters were laden with red, green, and yellow vegetables of all shapes and sizes. Full sink, cutting boards, boiling pots and whirring blenders. The place smelled like a bomb exploded in a cabbage patch.

I gagged on the spinach “milkshakes” and that left only veggie soup – no meat. After a few days of this torture, my legs were wobbly. Stars filled my eyes when I stood. The rabbit that nibbles my grass in the morning was eating better than I was.

I grew lethargic and shed pounds like water through your fingers, symptoms that my wife mysteriously seemed to avoid. Being the faithful husband, I carried on nonetheless.

She announced we were switching to the “pre-surgery” diet, something she lifted from a magazine.

“Why do we need the pre-surgery diet,” I protested, “when we have no surgeries planned?”

“That’s beside the point,” she explained. “It’s for rapid weight loss before surgery and it’ll be good for us, trust me.”

I became delirious from hunger. Cloudy thinking. Couldn’t remember where I put things. Lost favorite baseball cap. Looked in her car and BOOM! The smoking gun – an empty Wendy’s bag!

I grabbed it and confronted her. “What vulgarity have you inflicted upon your body? Have you been two-timing me?”

“Oh that. Goodness, I forgot to throw that away. I was running errands and my blood sugar got down on me [translation: she got hungry] so I had to grab something quickly, that’s all. Wendy’s was the closest thing.”

Culinary infidelity in the first degree. Furious, I stormed out and hightailed it to Wendy’s. I was in critical condition by then. Dizzy, I walked hangdog to the counter and could barely concentrate. Somehow, I rattled off “triple cheeseburger, large fries, and sweet tea.” Never had a triple in my life.

Meat and cheese, grease and ketchup, oh my. I instantly felt better. My vigorous, clear-thinking old self was back. Endorphins flowed like the chocolate Frosty that seeped into the cracks and crevices of my stomach. I clicked my heels in the air as I exited.

After that coming out, I went on a vicious eating binge to show my wife that two can play the game. Cheeseburgers, fried chicken, French fries, fried this, fried that. I went on a true pre-surgery diet – the open-heart variety. I’m happy to report we are back on a “normal” diet. I have forgiven her for her indiscretion.

Stop the presses, Oprah is back on TV!

Jameson Gregg Author
PUBLICATION: Dahlonega Nugget, The (GA)

SECTION: News, page 4A

DATE: April 16, 2014

Review of Luck Be a Chicken: The Gizzards of Wrath

Jameson Gregg mixes raw realism and compassion with brazen satire in Luck Be A Chicken: A Comic Novel. He paints the rough side of life with comic relief. Farce and embellishment live on the top drawer of his humor toolbox.

The sensory impact, the humor when it is least expected, and the nail-biting anxiety propel the rapid turning of pages to the end. This book digs into the inner core of some unsavory elements of society. As a result, certain events portrayed and the language spoken may disturb some. Delving into the minds of rough characters can be shocking.

Jameson holds a cracked mirror in front of us. Somewhere, some piece of us all is in there, and we wish it weren't. For example, Butterbean Sweat and his dumpling wife Ruby rely on junk food to comfort them. Bean's boss is a perverted, white-collar criminal who doesn't care if his chickens kill people—profit is king.

Let’s not lie to ourselves and pretend chicken plants don’t exist. Although Jameson places the reader inside the plant, he does so with a comedic touch and doesn't smother the reader with grossness as Upton Sinclair did in exposing deplorable conditions in meat packing plants in 1906. Jameson portrays substandard practices in a fictional plant but doesn’t imply that all or even most chicken processing operations are substandard. The compassion Jameson shows for the less fortunate in our society will remind readers of John Steinbeck. With a backdrop of humor, Gregg questions whether hardships are caused by poor personal choices or oppression of evil men.

The deer hunt brought back fond memories of Faulkner’s great short story, “Race at Morning.”

This humorist tramps out a twenty-first century version of the gizzards of wrath. He doesn't turn his eyes away from the segments of humanity lacking coping skills.

A highly entertaining read from a most-talented author.