EXCERPT: 'My Footprint,' by Jeff Garlin

Feb. 17, 2010— -- Comedian Jeff Garlin, known for his role on HBO's "Curb Your Enthusiasm," has penned a memoir about his journey to lose weight and cut his carbon footprint.

Click here for more on Jeff Garlin's struggle to lose weight.

Below is an excerpt of the book.

God bless my wife, she always calms me down. As I'm looking through our mail this morning, she says, "You're going to see something you're not going to like." And I say, "Really? What?" She pauses, gives me a knowing look, and says, "Just use it in your comedy." I start thumbing through the mail. I have received a catalog from the good people at Living XL. It's a catalog for fat people who want to stay fat and enjoy themselves. The message is, basically, "Don't lose weight. No, no, no. All the problems that you normally have with being fat -- we've got a solution." How do they know to send me a catalog? Do they have a list of fat celebrities?

I open it up. The first product on offer is a three-wheel bike with a five-hundred- pound capacity. As I look at this contraption, I'm wondering how many five-hundred-pound people are sitting around -- well, they are obviously sitting or maybe lying around -- but how many of them are sitting around thinking, I so want to go biking. I just don't have the opportunity. I weigh 450. If only there was a bike that could hold my weight. Then I'd have no excuse.

Next up, fat ponchos. Because we know the regular poncho is so slimming. Has anyone ever put on a poncho and said, "This is not freeing enough?" I guess the only way this thought would cross your mind is if you're a really fat woman and you're wearing a muumuu underneath your oversized poncho. Poncho and muumuu, sounds like a new cop show. The next page features a lawn mower–handle extender. I don't know what that has to do with being fat. Wait a second; it must be to allow extra room for your stomach! That's probably it.

Now how about one of those chairs you bring to a kid's soccer game, except this one's got an eight-hundred-pound capacity. How many eight hundred pounders do you see out in society? It must be for a four-hundred pounder, who's got a four-hundred-pound girlfriend who wants to sit on his lap. How about a 650-pound-capacity sand chair. How many 650-pound people do you see at the beach? Do you ever? No! They're at home. They can't leave.

What else? Okay, here's a hammock with a six-hundred-pound capacity. Now, I don't care what you weigh, getting on and off a hammock is quite difficult. I don't care if you weigh 150, hammock mobility is hard for everyone. So you're six hundred pounds. The odds of you getting on that hammock are so slight. You're going to be on the ground. You're six hundred pounds -- once you do get on you're never getting off. So it's good that it supports your weight, because you're never getting up again.

Let's see here, next is the big key computer keyboard. Because Lord knows, your fingers are so fat, a typical computer keyboard's not going to work for you.

Here's one with a great name. It's the Pride XL Mobility Chair. I read the description and learn that when you press a button on the chair, instead of having to get up, the chair lifts you up. And yet they call it the Pride Mobility Chair. I think one of the first things about being a proud person is that you can stand up on your own. I'm not talking about someone in a wheelchair or someone who was in an accident. I'm talking about when you really don't have a reason for not being able to stand up yourself. They should call it the Embarrassment Mobility Chair. Or the You've Hit Rock Bottom Mobility Chair. Or even the You Should Be Ashamed Mobility Chair.

Next up is something you've probably seen in commercials. And to me, this is so horrible and wrong ...it's the Living XL Wearable Sleeves Blanket. Now, how many times have you covered yourself in a blanket, and then thought, I can't get up! I can't maneuver; if only I had sleeves! It's only a matter of time until you see someone wearing this thing at the grocery store to keep warm while perusing the frozen foods aisle.

My God, they've got toilets! All right, here's one: a toilet seat that's called the Big John toilet seat. And if you think I'm making this up, I'm not -- 1,200-pound capacity. Can a 1,200-pound person get up and go to the bathroom, let alone sit down and read? Twelve hundred pounds?! Who's taking a s**t in that house? It's described as "durable and convenient." I understand the need for durability on this one, but what makes it more convenient than other toilet seats? Oh, right, it must be for the four-hundred-pound man with the four-hundred-pound girlfriend who wants to sit on his lap as he goes number two—or in this case, number five. The 1,200-pound capacity toilet really takes the worry out of going to the john. Once you get there, there's no panicking questions like, "Can it hold me?" Oh yes, it can. It most certainly can.

And here's another bottomed-out contraption, the "Pistol-Grip, No-Bend Toenail Clippers." Not being able to reach your toes because of the size of your belly -- I'm sorry, but that's a low point. Maybe it's not the low point. You could be wearing a blanket and clipping your toenails while taking a dump on the Big John. It's a low point just the same.

But here's the moment that might be the real bottom for me: I turn the page and look at the model who's displaying the Cabin Comfort Inflatable -- and who do you think he looks like? That's right, he looks like me. When you're going through a fat catalog and making fun of it, and you get to the last page and the model is your twin, that's your low point.

It was embarrassing enough just being sent a copy in the mail, but the fact that I look like a model in Living XL renders me speechless. I just don't know what to say. He looks just like me! Wow. I've always wanted to look like a model, but not one from the Living XL catalog. So this is my bottom. Done! I'm not messing around anymore. I'm like the Captain in WALL-E. If not now, then when? You will see a weight-loss festival like you've never imagined.