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| Every time carbs kill, a bitter Adrian gets its wings |
ANGRY: People who don't realize crack kills.
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| Really, Steven Tyler? You're better than this. Where dat gourd goin'? |
Ok, People. It's not that hard to know when your coin slot is flapping in the wind. I'm a 500 pound black woman and I know when my back-smile is cheesin'. Why oh why, Random Asian Dude, must you sit on the bike in front of me at the gym and let your top-ass taunt me with it's puffy cheeks and vertical smirk of judgery? Please-to tell me, Skanky Thong Girl, why you walked 5 miles with your shoes untied and waited until I was behind your ass-trap-of-death to finally bend over and take care of your unkempt Keds of ferocity?
It isn't rocket science, peeps... it's just plain science. If your ass crack is longer than your spinal cord, then chances are when you sit, bend, move, anything... your southern equator is gonna come out of the hot mess you call stonewashed jeans and make me drop my burrito (and not in a good way). So for the sake of all things Chipotle, and in the words of Chris Crocker... "keep it cute, or put it on mute".
It isn't rocket science, peeps... it's just plain science. If your ass crack is longer than your spinal cord, then chances are when you sit, bend, move, anything... your southern equator is gonna come out of the hot mess you call stonewashed jeans and make me drop my burrito (and not in a good way). So for the sake of all things Chipotle, and in the words of Chris Crocker... "keep it cute, or put it on mute".
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BITTER: Naked locker room people that aren't old, hairy, Arabian fatties.
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| Put your stupid shirt on, hottie. Some of us are trynna be fat here |
Ok, those of us who've read about, but never been to a gym know the stories. The locker rooms are full of fat, hairy dudes who look like Borat's sidekick, have one mega-eyebrow, and walk around in a white towel that looks squeezed to it's last life like a french fry between my puffy face's vagina lips of nom. But in Los Angeles, or specifically the LA Fitness off Hollywood blvd, you have a better chance of catching someone in the locker room eating a hot pocket with extra cheese (me) than you do finding one of said hideos in the locker room... and that breaks the laws of fat physics.
How am I supposed to feel better with myself in the locker room if I'm the ugliest one there? The rules of fat physics state that for every fatty, there exists an equal and opposite re-fatty... yet in my life there's more "opposite" than "equal and".
It really makes me bitter and chaps my super flabby ass when some hottie passes by in his "oops, my 14 inch dick is out resting on my 6 pack" costume while giving me terrified side eye that says "you done on the scale yet, Precious?" Why couldn't I be born with that kind of confidence instead of man-boobs that would make anyone in Beverly Hills ask who my surgeon is and if he's taking new clients.
So while I'm working out at the gym, you're maintaining muscle mass by feeding off my insecurities... here's to hoping my years of bitterness don't turn me into a hairy Arabian fatty, cuz I might lose my potatoes if one day some hot-young-thing is blogging about the fat uggo named Adrian with cutoffs in the gym carrying a box of pringles and a judgy look on his face. But we all become what we're destined too, and to that I say "Shambles".
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------How am I supposed to feel better with myself in the locker room if I'm the ugliest one there? The rules of fat physics state that for every fatty, there exists an equal and opposite re-fatty... yet in my life there's more "opposite" than "equal and".
It really makes me bitter and chaps my super flabby ass when some hottie passes by in his "oops, my 14 inch dick is out resting on my 6 pack" costume while giving me terrified side eye that says "you done on the scale yet, Precious?" Why couldn't I be born with that kind of confidence instead of man-boobs that would make anyone in Beverly Hills ask who my surgeon is and if he's taking new clients.
So while I'm working out at the gym, you're maintaining muscle mass by feeding off my insecurities... here's to hoping my years of bitterness don't turn me into a hairy Arabian fatty, cuz I might lose my potatoes if one day some hot-young-thing is blogging about the fat uggo named Adrian with cutoffs in the gym carrying a box of pringles and a judgy look on his face. But we all become what we're destined too, and to that I say "Shambles".
JELLY: Kids/old people in better shape than me.
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| Damn you, Gramps... Baked Lays haven't done any of that for me |
Ugh, it pains me to admit this one, but in fairness to taking one for the team, I'll be honest... And I mean this in a non-pedo/daddy complex way, but man am I jelly of little kids with muscles I'll never see on my own body, and old dudes with muscles I'll never know what it's like to miss when I'm their age. Sure, kids are more active and whatnot so they're usually in that shape naturally, without trying, but that reasoning doesn't apply to oldies who have six pack... so what's their excuse?
The mantra I repeat to myself a million times when I see one of these offenders is; "kids haven't had as long as me to eat bagel bites, and old people have had more years to work them off". Whether or not that's true I don't care, all I know is that kids who look like bodybuilders, and old dudes who double as centerfolds make me super jelly.
The mantra I repeat to myself a million times when I see one of these offenders is; "kids haven't had as long as me to eat bagel bites, and old people have had more years to work them off". Whether or not that's true I don't care, all I know is that kids who look like bodybuilders, and old dudes who double as centerfolds make me super jelly.
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Whew, now I feel better. I'm glad I got all that stank off my chest and can just simmer in my bitter juices of lard. At the end of the day though I'm more confident than this blog post may have suggested (although it's more delusion than confidence). But delusion is better than nothing... and so I keep blogging for all 10 of you's benefit with burrito and baked potatoes in hand. Here's to you fellow followers, I'm gonna keep carbing up and sweating just to keep you hobags entertained... because at the end of the day all of this Shamblette's splendor is for you... and Noel Kahn.
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