Ron discusses an article published in the Los Angeles Times about a new study that puts the blame for being overweight on Moms. Why scapegoating never works, and how taking responsibility for your life and your fitness opens up not only freedom, but also happiness. Leave your mom alone! She brought you into the world.

Thanks for nothing, mom. Mom made me fat. A whole page on how 1950s moms are responsible for your being fat and lazy. Oh, what next? Boys and girls, this is what’s wrong, blame game. The concept of this little nightmarish and irresponsible article from the Los Angeles Times, Shari Roan, whoever that is, nobody.

“Pregnant women’s lifestyles of the ’50s might have triggered the nation’s obesity epidemic according to one theory.” Uh‑huh. It goes on to say that because moms didn’t have the information that they used to have, that perhaps they didn’t eat as much as they should have, they didn’t have the prenatal care.

We’re talking about the 1950s here. That, I guess, six decades later it finally shows up and we’re all fat and stupid because they had a couple smokes, a cocktail, a cosmopolitan and maybe a Ho Ho. It’s ludicrous. It’s foolish.

If you want to know why we’re getting fat, it’s because you’re eating everything in sight. You can drive through. You can order. No one leaves their freakin’ seat anymore. Eat, eat, eat. It’s a hobby. It’s a passion. It’s a lifetime. There’s a food channel network. American’s are consumed with food, tasting it, buying it, overeating it, then going into a 12‑step program for it.

Meanwhile, moms like my mom and my cameraman’s mom are to blame because Johnny’s just too robust to fit in the bus seat and being made fun of by some of the other kids bullying now.

Look guys, responsibility. This is just really the key to success. You wake up in the morning, you go, “I don’t want to be fat. I don’t want to be out of shape. I don’t want to be out of work. I don’t want to be crabby. I don’t want to be unhappy.” Then you do something about it.

If I do something that’s not very good, it’s not my cameraman’s fault. It’s not the editor’s fault. It’s my fault. Me. Take responsibility for what you do. You’ll be happier, because when you succeed, you did it. And that’s a great feeling to have.

So get this straight. Moms of the ’50s rock. A cosmopolitan, a cigarette, hey, screw little Johnny. But they didn’t make us fat and stupid. We did that all on our own. All right. So, kind of a cranky blog, but don’t be picking on moms. You just don’t do that.

All right. I can’t wait to see what I talk about next. Adios.