614 Magazine - Columbus, Ohio

No Time To Lose

By Travis Hoewischer

6 Comments

Lenny Bruce. Chris Farley. Mitch Hedberg. All funny as hell - and all dead before their time.

Bill Arrundale is determined to live, to make sure he escapes the dubious notoriety of that list. He has spent his career helping others, spearheading charity benefits for the victims of 9/11 and the Virginia Tech shootings - but now, Arrundale is looking for some big help from his friends.

The comedian has carved out a solid niche for himself in comedy from his home base of Columbus. He's opened for the likes of Dave Chappelle and Dave Attell, tours frequently, and his ribald humor gets a ton of laughs. But now, after carrying a potentially lethal 500-plus pounds for the better half of a decade, doctors say he has to lose serious weight - on a serious deadline.

Since last spring, Arrundale, 38, has been laying the groundwork for a monumental plan to shed more than half of his bulk. This time, the Columbus Funny Bone will hold a benefit show for him. This show, the second held to date for the cause, may be the lynchpin necessary to raise enough money to pay for the life-saving surgery - a vertical sleeve gastrectomy, in which of the stomach is reduced to the size of a cigar, allowing for rapid weight loss.

For Arrundale, that time could mean the difference between life and death.

Always heavy, Arrundale has watched his various attempts at weight loss become increasingly futile. He's changed his diet, he's hit the gym, the pool; once, he even managed to lose 175 pounds in one year. Of course, the solution then was a high-risk crash diet - essentially starvation, said Arrundale. That resulted in him putting the weight back on just as quickly - and losing his gall bladder in the process.

"Some people are like, 'Why don't you take your fat ass to the gym?'" he said. "But I've done that. That's not enough. Now, I need a medical solution."

In preparation for the surgery, Arrundale had dropped nearly 80 pounds, thanks to a hardcore regimen of diet and exercise, perhaps spurred on by the relative success of his first benefit show. Then, in May, his physical and spiritual momentum took a massive hit when his knee gave out on stage during a road show, resulting in a trip to the emergency room. Arrundale recounted the EMT's struggle to lift him on the gurney as a sobering reality, as well as the doctors' inability to find an MRI machine large enough to accommodate him. The whole ordeal left him unable to work for weeks, and limited him to exercising in a swimming pool.

Uninsured, and at too great a weight to have a standard gastric bypass, Arrundale has elected to travel to Mexico to undergo the procedure for a reduced price; the surgery is much too costly in the U.S. healthcare system. While doctors have told him the surgery is necessary, such operations are considered elective by Medicare, and therefore not covered. Arrundale would have an easier time fixing his recent knee injury - a far less critical surgery.

All well worth the risk, says Arrundale.

More critical in Arrundale's mind than any inconvenience or missed gigs is his son Brody, who just turned eight. The risks that come with undergoing an intrusive surgery in a third-world country pale compared to leaving his son without a father.

"I don't want to be on the road in Bluefield, W.Va., and the housekeeper finds my fat, bloated body there on the bed, dead as a doornail. Or, God forbid, I have my son with me and that happens. That terrifies me," he said.

And yet, in spite of myriad fears and anxieties, Arrundale is handling his situation with the same smart-ass jokes and self-deprecating wit he's been lobbing into the darkness of comedy clubs for years.

Besides, in spite of the complexities associated with the journey, his quest is simple.

"I just want to live a normal life and take care of my son. I don't need to be rich and famous - I just want to be."

614's entertainment editor met with Arrundale over the course of a week.

What finally pushed you to pursue the surgery seriously?
"It started about a year and a half ago. Basically, the doctor comes in and says, 'You could not be any fatter and not have a heart attack.' I don't know if he worded it exactly like that [laughs], but that's what he meant. I knew I needed to lose weight before, and there have been several failed attempts since then. I think all people who are overweight have a tipping point where diet and exercise can no longer do it. This surgery isn't a magic bullet. It's not a cure-all. It's just a tool that you have to use to get where you want to go."

It definitely seems like you're prepared for the road that lies after the surgery.
"Right, some people say the surgery's going to be the easy way out. Oh, right, the easy way is when they cut me open like a Tauntaun and re-route my intestines. That's probably the really easy part - much easier than a leafy green salad and a walk around the park, you know? I'm getting arthritis in my knees, and it's getting steadily worse. I'm just not able to do everything I need to do to lose weight. I weighed in last year at 576 and I'm down to 490 right now, which is better . . . sort of. Like lethal injection instead of the electric chair. There's just not a lot I can do right now at this weight."

Does the average person really realize how difficult it can be when you're at 500-plus?
"I've seen people who've had the surgery when they had to lose 75 pounds. I was like, 'Wow, really?' Maybe they didn't have the will power. Or they had the cash. But, I could lose 200 pounds and still be completely overweight. That's the difference, I think. But this isn't like one day I decided I'm going to give up and get surgery. I've been dieting and exercising for years; I can just never seem to get the right things in the right order."

I think many people attach a stigma to those who need medical help to lose weight. What has been the response to your plan?
"It is something I brought on myself, absolutely. But, most people I've talked to about it have been absolutely supportive and they're willing to help. I think there are some people who feel I've made these decisions and that's that. But, then you make a bunch of bad decisions and you think, Oh @#$%, I'm in a bad spot here. You eat because you're depressed, you get fat because you eat, and you get depressed because you get fatter - and it just keeps snowballing."

As in, there may not be enough time to lose the weight the old-fashioned way?
"I need to lose it now. Since the knee injury, it's really driven it home that I need to have this done."

How do you feel about asking the community to pitch in?
"Honestly, the last thing I want to do is even have a benefit, because it kind of seems like a handout to me. I don't really want that. But there's no other way for me to do it. I don't really want to go to Mexico to do it either, but it's going to be about a third of the cost."

Right, the Mexico thing. Another thing to worry about.
"Right now, they've got all that horrible drug violence, which is right where I'm going - to that city [Juarez]. They've got the swine flu. They're supposed to pick me up in El Paso in an unmarked van. Again, I'm not taking the easy way out at all. It's going to be like a bad Mission Impossible episode. That's how badly I need this done. I don't even want to go Mexico on vacation, let alone for a life-saving surgery. Someone was like, '[while you're there] you could go see...' I was like, 'I'm not leaving the building until it's time to go back to Texas.'"

Your son, Brody, is a driving force for this.
"It sucks to have an eight-year-old you can't do anything with. I can only go to movies. I don't want him to have that lifestyle. I want him to be active - which he is. He plays baseball and is very active at school. When I was his age, I was already a fat load. He's not, which I'm ecstatic about. He doesn't grow up in the same depressive environment I did."

You talk about that a lot in your act and it always gets huge laughs. What was it like for you growing up in your house?
"Every single person in my family is fat - every single one of them. Every single thing came out of my house fat and traumatized, even the cat [laughs]. My parents both smoked all the time. They never stopped smoking. I got made fun of at school because I smelled like cigarettes all the time. I didn't know because I grew up there. Once I finally moved out of there, and realized that was what that smell was, I was pissed. I was furious. All that smoke - God knows how lethargic that makes you as a kid [laughs]. I hated it. But [my parents] are supportive. It's sad for them that I have to do this. But I'm not trying to be like, 'Oh, my parents didn't love me, waaah, I want a cheeseburger.' I'm not blaming it on them. That's just the way I grew up. I was never taught, 'this is how you're supposed to eat.'"

You're about $4000 away, and this last show could do the trick. Are you starting to think about the little things that will be physically possible once the procedure gets you going?
"Some people want to go mountain climbing - I want to go grocery shopping and not sweat in the store. When I first started this, I had to fill out a questionnaire of what my weight loss goals were. Well, I'd like to not break furniture anymore. That would be nice. Maybe be able to sit in a booth and not take it with me when I stand up. Get in and out of a car without thinking 12 steps ahead like, 'I push this roll through...' I'm like my own personal A-Team. Most people don't think of that stuff, but it's a very real thing for me."

What spurred the crash weight loss years ago?
"Well, I wanted to get laid. [laughs] For the most part. There was a girl I definitely had feelings for."

Meanwhile you're on the road 200 dates a year, fighting temptation.
"What do you do besides listen to the radio? You eat, and drink whatever sugary energy drink is going to keep you alive until the next stop."

Yeah, even healthy eaters would have a hard time making a good snack choice during a 12-hour road trip or after a show ends at 1 a.m.
"It tends to lead to an unhealthy lifestyle. You'll find a lot of comics who are [unhealthy], whether they're overweight, an alcoholic, or a drug addict. I don't blow my money on booze or drugs. Food's my drug. My act is like my own intervention [laughs]."

Ha! You could do a double headliner tour with Gallagher. He smashes a watermelon and you go up and eat it.
"[laughs] Maybe I'll go on stage as 'Bite-sized Bill Arrundale.'"

So, after the surgery, what becomes of some of your very funny "fat" material? I mean, your CD is called "Bloated Ninja" ...
"Well, it'll be a while before I have to say goodbye to them. A year from now, I'll still be overweight. The last time I lost [weight], my fat jokes just became 'used to be fat' jokes. But that won't be the same. I'll just have to write new stuff. I'm going to Mexico to have my stomach @#$%ed with. I'm pretty sure I can come up with some new material [laughs]."

Yeah, that might be a one-man show or half-hour special right there.
"I'm sure there will be a good donkey show right there in the lobby, so I'll take that in. They'll probably let me be mayor of the city for the day [laughs]. I'll be able to come up with the new stuff. Of course, they'll probably pack the other half of my stomach with heroin and I'll have to smuggle that back in. Again, I'm not saying there's not a downside to this [laughs]."

Editor's Note: 614 Magazine plans to track Arrundale's journey to surgery, and to a healthier life. To be continued...

Last Comic Eating

Reservations can be made for the benefit show, set for July 27 at the Funny Bone, by calling 471-JOKE or going to columbusfunnybone.com.

If you cannot attend but still want to contribute to the cause, donations can be made at http://funnymofo.net/donate.htm. His CD, "Bloated Ninja," is available at funnymofo.net.

Originally Published: July 1, 2009

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