GYM Membership: Dude, This Is ABCORE! Part 1

I forgot what day it was exactly last week, but one time at the office after lunch I swear to God I saw myself in the mirror and I looked pregnant. Like six months pregnant. My belly, from the looks of it, seemed fat and bloated. And so my immediate reaction to this was like, “LOL this is absurd!” I never get fat. My metabolism is super fast that I can eat as much as I want to and never get fat. That is true. So looking at the mirror I just shook my head and said to myself, “Oh my mischievous co-workers, somebody must have been studying sorcery and cast a beach volleyball under my shirt. Those silly rascals ahahaha. Now let me just raise my shirt up and see that it’s just a beach— HEAVENS TO MURGATROYD it’s REALLY MY BELLY!!!!

Friends, it didn’t take long for me to figure out what the horrific image is telling me. I can no longer eat the way I do. I can no longer exercise the way I do. I can no longer sit down and eat fried pork swimming in cooking oil and let fat rendezvous around my belly. Bob Dylan said it best, The Times They Are A-Changin’. Of course he was talking about social and cultural change but nevertheless same can be said about my bingeing ways. As soon as possible, the atrocity has to stop.

Which brings us to the meat of this post. Two days ago I got my ass a gym membership. And it felt as though the gods must have been watching my weight and decided to do something about it because inside this gym, I found a machine so awesome and magnificent it can only be made from the thunderbolts of Zeus at Mt. Olympus.

To Be Continued…

(my arms are a bit tired from lifting 300lbs of weight with 15 sets of 30 repetitions each, so I have to stop for now, please be patient my scrawny friends. Part 2 is coming soon)