Need to lose weight? Sit right down in that easy chair because you’ve come to the right place. See, I’m sorta like that Jillian lady on TV, a guru of getting fit, only without the tiny waist and all the scary-looking ab muscles.

Hey, c’mon, I’m serious. I know, I remind you of some other celebrity with my white beard and the belly that jiggles like a bowl full of … never mind about that. It’s not about looks, it’s about scientific research. And if scientific research says a thing is so, you better believe it’s so. At least until the next study.

According to volumes of rather unfunny research, laughter increases infection-fighting antibodies, lowers blood sugar levels, increases good cholesterol, improves problem-solving abilities, reduces aches and pains, and even makes you more beautiful by oxygenating cells.

But of course, you don’t care about any of that. You want to stop sounding like a herd of buffalo while tip-toeing down the stairs at 3 a.m. to raid your secret stash of Snickers bars.

Well, 10 to 15 minutes of solid laughter a day burns as much as 50 calories. And that — unless you eat four extra crackers or another bite of cake or something — eventually will translate to nearly 4.5 pounds of weight lost in a year. Whoa!

It’s up to you. You can jog for about 15 minutes to burn about 170 calories, or, since I am a fully licensed humor columnist, you can read my columns or comedic novels for an hour or so from the comfort of your couch and accomplish the same thing.

(I bet you didn’t even notice the subtle plugs for my stuff. I’m just like an infomercial, only without the smarmy guy giving the expert testimony.)

Oh yeah, the testimonial — laughter is the system my own personal physician uses.

Every so often, I waddle in for my checkups and put a hurting on his office scales. His eyebrows shoot up. “Added another snack time or two, have we?”

“No, just my usual three meals a day, and possibly a small tide-me-over here and there.”

He chokes back something like a snort. “How much of this, uh, carry-on luggage do you figure to jettison before your next visit?”

“Oh, 40 pounds, I think. I could do 50. The two or three or seven pounds I put on since last visit, plus a few more. Yeah, let’s say 50. I’m sure of it this time.”

The doctor turns away. After a few moments, he turns back, sucking a serious look back onto his face. “And you have a plan of attack to lose this … mmrrrp … 50 pounds?”

“Well, see, this time I really am going to do 500 crunches each morning, then run six or seven miles. I’ll jump rope for 45 minutes in the afternoon.”

By this time, he holds my chart in front of his face. “And … heeheehee … your nutritional plan?”

I raise my right hand. “This time, Doc, I mean it. The Coca-Cola and Oreos I just ate in the parking lot are my last. Oh, wait, I think there’s another pack of Oreos in the glove box. After THAT pack. And the one in my pocket …”

The doctor wraps his arms around his ribs and rocks. “Stop, stop! You’re … har-har-har … killing me. Get out before … ho, ho, ho … I shrivel up like a guffawing prune.”

That’s how I know laughter works. Thanks to me, my doctor’s a skinny man.

Would science josh you?

—- Share skinny jokes with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or at the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.