I'm on my version of the protein diet, but there ain't no protein

When J. B. Smoove declared, with a mischievous glint of humor, “I’m on my version of the protein diet, but there ain’t no protein in it. It’s a Krispy Kreme doughnut between two Cinnabons. And you soak it overnight in Red Bull. Then you chase it with a Snickers,” he did more than jest—he offered a mirror to the madness of modern appetites. Beneath the laughter lies the wisdom of satire, for through exaggeration he exposes the truth: that mankind, though surrounded by abundance, has become enslaved to its own indulgence. His “diet” is a parody, but the world he describes is all too real—a world where the pursuit of pleasure has replaced the pursuit of balance.

In the style of the ancients, such words would be called a parable of excess. The philosophers of old often cloaked their truth in jest, for humor disarms where preaching fails. So too does Smoove’s absurd “meal” remind us of the absurdity of our own cravings. The ancients taught that the body is the chariot and the soul its rider; if the rider loses control, the chariot runs wild toward ruin. In Smoove’s words, the Krispy Kreme and Cinnabon become symbols of that loss of control—the modern temples of sweetness that lure the will into servitude. The Red Bull and Snickers are not nourishment, but the banners of false vitality, promising energy while stealing endurance.

The Greeks once spoke of Erysichthon, the man cursed with endless hunger after he disrespected the goddess of nature. No matter how much he ate, his stomach was never filled. In his gluttony, he devoured all his wealth, all his servants, even his own flesh. His story is not of hunger, but of the spiritual emptiness that follows indulgence without purpose. Smoove’s “diet” is the laughter-born echo of Erysichthon’s fate—a reminder that the more we feed our desires with emptiness, the hungrier our souls become.

Yet, within the jest lies compassion. Smoove does not mock individuals; he mocks a culture of consumption, where the sacred act of eating has become entertainment, and where nourishment has been replaced by stimulation. His words are a rebellion against the blind faith in convenience and sugar-coated comfort. The ancients would have understood this as the sickness of hybris—the arrogance of man believing he can outwit nature, that he may feast forever without consequence. The laughter he evokes is both joyful and tragic, for it carries the sound of a civilization laughing as it forgets itself.

Let us not mistake humor for emptiness. The greatest teachers often wrapped their lessons in absurdity so that truth might slip past pride. Diogenes, the Cynic philosopher, once walked the marketplace in broad daylight holding a lantern, saying he was “looking for an honest man.” His humor was sharp, his message profound. Likewise, Smoove’s wild “recipe” is a lantern held up to our habits, lighting the way through the fog of our appetites. His “protein diet” without protein is the perfect metaphor for modern life—full of flavor, empty of substance.

In hearing his words, one might laugh, but the wise will pause. They will see in the joke a call to return to balance, to remember that food is not merely pleasure but communion with life itself. The ancient healers, from Hippocrates to Lao Tzu, taught that the body thrives in simplicity—grains, roots, fruits, oils, and meats prepared with reverence. They would look upon Smoove’s creation and smile knowingly, for they understood that humor can awaken where rules cannot. Through laughter, the mind opens; through reflection, it transforms.

The lesson, then, is this: laughter may be born from folly, but wisdom is born from laughter. Let the jest remind you to eat with awareness, to seek strength rather than thrill, to honor your body as the vessel of the spirit. Do not mock the feast, but neither should you be ruled by it. Between the Krispy Kreme and the Cinnabon, between sweetness and sustenance, lies the middle path—the ancient way of moderation, of gratitude, of self-command.

So, my friends, laugh with J. B. Smoove, but learn from his jest. Let his outlandish “diet” be your warning and your wisdom. For the true feast is not found in abundance, but in balance—not in the chasing of flavor, but in the savoring of life itself. Those who understand this will find joy that no doughnut, no Red Bull, no Snickers can ever replace—the joy of harmony between the body and the soul.