Any weight-loss program on my planet must obey these Commandments to have a chance in Hell of success.
The program shall:
1. Not require weekly purchases of freeze-dried chemical substances branded {Program} Cuisine masquerading as food. Which are supplemented by weekly trips to the supermarket to buy actual food for actual nutrition.
2. Not require me to purchase a membership to a gym where moms deposit SUV loads of excess mouth-breathing teenagers to pile into the weight rooms to gape at nicer-looking teenagers posing on the exercise equipment.
3. Not include regular daily doses of fat-melting “vitamin supplement” capsules touting a secret metabolism-boosting ingredient just recently discovered deep in the remote rainforests of Costa Rica. I have already hit the maximum number of drug and food interaction messages my pharmacist can print on one Rx label.
4. Not include portable exercise equipment that I am free to use anytime in the comfort of my own home. This assumes that [1] there is comfort in my own home and [2] I am free to use it at any time. These assumptions are invalid. I share my home with five or so outside cats, Lily, a turbo-tailed Golden Retriever, and Lulu, an F5 tornado that resembles a bloodhound .
5. Not have counselors who want to counsel me weekly on how to assure the program’s Maximum Effectiveness in support of my weight-loss goals. I don’t like counseling. It forces me to sit and talk to people I don’t know. If I’m going to be forced to sit and talk to people I don’t know, I am going to do it in near proximity to a Margarita and a bartender on stand-by.
Life in the Fast Lane on a Dirt Road 