Being unemployed for nearly seven months was totally bitchin' until the endlessly long days of playing Xbox, You Tube addiction, not showering, and sucking down troughs full of trans fats added an extra 15 pounds of adipose to my already rubenesque physique. Oh tasty treats, ours is a star-crossed love. Like that tragic moth, I am consumed in your sweet, tasty flames.
But hey, remember that time my ass fit into my pants?
I do.
I remember that time fondly, which is why I have declared war on my backside.
I am Super ecstatic about being the newest member of Team Super Fitness.
How I have missed the smell of stale sweat and diluted Windex! And the omnipresent musical stylings of Shakira! She is a shining beacon of truth--like Buddha, except sluttier.
"My Hips Don't Lie."
Truer words were never spoken.
My hips tell me that I'm an oddly shaped, bi-pedal glob of gelatinous weird, poured into a pair of pants that fit like a sausage casing. Additionally, my hips will be giving a dissertation, open to the general public, on the subject of fat pants and their negative impact on my lifestyle.
Am I mixing metaphors again?
Gosh, I'm sorry.
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