I don’t count calories. Not in, not out, not expended, not expected, not projected. Ain’t nobody got time for that gobbledygook. Certainly not me. I couldn’t give a donkey’s booty about carb counts, fat grams or protein, bro (pounds chest). The only macro I care to know is Macklemore, and I’m hoping he’ll take me Downtown (yes, I’m still obsessed). What…