When “Fat” Doesn’t Quite Say it…

Some people are just not meant to do hard labor. Physical exertions are a phobia for these “creatures of comfort”. And I’m proud to be one of them. I hate going to the gym everyday. I hate the fact that I’ve got to lose all the nice padding I’ve accumulated over the past 22 years. I feel sorry for those adipose tissues, insulating me in this cold.

Memories of my grandmother feeding me healthy (and fat) tomato juice and ice creams and chocolates almost makes it illegal for me to burn the calories. I like the way I am – I am a healthy specimen of slightly overweight people. So what if I can’t run three miles? I can drive ten without breaking a sweat and I can cure cancer. So what if I can’t climb up a steep staircase without breathing hard? I can fly (under certain conditions, if you know what I mean!).

Vatson and the gang are hell-bent on making me sweat it out in the gym everyday. I’ve devised a great plan for avoiding this. I’m going to fake a heart condition so that they’ll leave me and  my fatty acids alone. I hope this works.

For gym-haters all over the world, take my advice. Fake a heart condition. Stay home and eat burritos. Drink coke. They say life’s short – so why ruin it? 😉

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3 thoughts on “When “Fat” Doesn’t Quite Say it…

  1. You’re right … fatty acids accumulated over a period of 22 years aint goin nowhere in a day!! But you also forget that the art of pestering, perfected over more than 22 years aint goin no where either!! 😀

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