Gym, alcohol

Monday, May 15, 2006

I seriously need to go to the gym. And by go to the gym I mean it in the “I’m going in there, run on the treadmill for at least an hour and pump some serious iron” sense and not in the “I’m going to run on the treadmill until this chick who looks strikingly similar to Jessa Zaragosa in front of me leaves. After which, I will attempt to chat her up and she’ll walk away, repulsed by my excessive sweating and body odor” sense.

I’m such in a bad shape that the 50 meter walk from the parking lot to my office building makes me feel like I’m about to suffer a mild heart attack. Also, I’m tired of being a fat fuck who everybody pities and looks down on. I want to be able to wear those trendy muscle shirts without me looking like a girl in a constant state of arousal because my perky nipples can be seen through them no thanks to my gigantic man boobs.

My friends say it’s because of my excessive nicotine intake. I mean come on, I don’t smoke that much; on the average I smoke like a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. They might be right, but I realized that everything wrong about my health has been blamed on cigarettes and that’s not fair.

My ex girlfriend said my erectile dysfunction was because of it (I don’t have E.D. by the way and my ex girlfriend probably just brought it up because of that time my hooded champion lost his will to fight when we were doing it in the car. Not that I have a problem with a little adventurous sexing here and there but I swear, that only happened because somehow, I managed to conjure up an image of my hairy uncle licking a popsicle in an attempt to prevent premature ejaculation). My mom also said that my excessive smoking contributed to my recent panic attacks; BUT after seeing a psychiatrist, I found out that smoking had absolutely nothing to do with it. The attacks are caused by an imbalance of hormones in my brain or something.

You see, there are a few things in the world I love so much: smoking, food, videogames and girls (usually in that order); so no, I’m not about to give up smoking anytime soon. Or maybe I will, if my lungs collapse or if somebody invents something as fun and fulfilling as a cigarette. It might be a blow-up proboscis monkey doll that makes kiddy noises when you touch it in secret places, I don’t know.

So yeah, my point is given that I can’t quit smoking (and fatty food), I might as well compensate for it by working out. It’s not like I don’t have access to any decent gyms either. In fact, my parents spend thousands of pesos on a sports club membership that, save for my dad, nobody actually uses. Plus I think I have this complimentary gym membership I won from a Christmas raffle last year (but I need to see if it’s still with me. I think I might’ve given it, along with my wallet, to this transvestite bartender in Puerto Galera while I was drunk)

I’ve actually been trying to work out in the sports club gym for the longest time but there’s something terribly wrong with the layout of that place. After you enter the club and register with the front desk, the hallway that leads to a gym has this really nice sports lounge that offers beer at half price during happy hour (the time I usually go).

So I say “Maybe I could work out later and just grab a few beers first—holy shit! Look they have free WiFi!” So I return to my car, drop off my gym bag, get my laptop and indulge myself in a festival of beer, bar chow, cigarettes and broadband access. And after everything’s said and done, I am too fucking buzzed to go to the gym.

The place is just so homey and more often than not, I’m the only customer there so I get to chat with their sexy waitresses too. Shit, I wish going to the gym was this fun.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure my dad will throw a hissy fit when he sees the bill:

Dad: Michael have you been working out?

Me: [Flexing my biceps] Well yeah, you noticed?

Dad: No. In fact, I think you’ve put on at least 20 pounds. How long have you been working out?

Me: Um, a month?

Dad: [interrupting, pulling up the bill] AND in that month you were able to consume 14,000 pesos worth of [going through the itemized list] Cerveza Negra, chicken fingers, calamari, cigarettes, scotch, and what’s this…three bottles of tequila?

Me: Yeah, I think that was during the birthday of one of the waitresses, and I decided to buy the entire crew drinks so they’d let me stay after hours and use their WiFi.

Dad: …

Me: [Giving my membership card] So how long before I can use the car again?

But that’s the last time anything like this is going to happen! I promise(again)! I refuse to live a charade that revolves around alcohol and the internet like a drunken, misguided moon. More importantly, I no longer want to be a fat bastard.

So yes, dear readers, you will read even less of me. I will devote all of my free time to running really fast on the treadmill, bench pressing 500 pounds and what not until I become so buff, my penis would be virtually invisible between my soon to be muscular thighs.

That’s all I have for you right now. It has been rainy and windy this week and I hope this continues until next week because this weather’s just lovely. Most of you are probably making the most out of the cold weather and just spend your entire day fornicating like sex deprived mutant rabbits. And even though the mere thought of people having consensual sex for free makes me want to beat you all up with my flaming fists of jealousy, I am willing to bury all of my hatred within my cholesterol-filled heart and wish you all a great week ahead.

There’s only one thing I ask from you: I want you to think of me, at the moment before you orgasm, riding an obese purple flying unicorn, wearing nothing but my socks chugging a beer, saying “Push and pull, push and pull make my titi colorful” in a weird British accent.