Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Born Again

Born Again Fat Ass

So, this fat ass in my cube is losing weight.
Congratulations. Being a fat ass, myself, I really admire the work she had done to increase the metabolic breakdown of foodstuffs, while reducing the foodstuffs she plants in her fat fuck face.
Look, it's not easy to lose weight. I've never tried, but from what I've seen people go through, it looks like a bitch.
The thought of not eating pizza everyday or walking further than to my car makes me shudder.
With all that said, there's still no reason I need to hear about what a guru she is.
Look, you lost weight, babe, but you're still the size of Titan.
And, although my coworker is not a moon in our solar system, it would still take a rocket to get from her navel to her face in our lifetime.
That really has nothing to do with any of this, but I might as well say it.
No, she's still fat.
So, therefore, I don't need to hear about how she has "done it." Most of these diets work for a month or two and then bounce on the walrus like a rubber band. In two months she's not going to just weigh her old 300 LBS, no, she will most likely tack on another 50.
Oh well.
So, it's with great annoyance that I have to hear about how she's moderating fats and proteins and carbs and shit like a Maury Povich in a McDonalds.
Why the hell is it that when someone does something "good" for themselves, they think they are the expert.
This on the heels of hearing the Guy Who Sits Behind Me say that he has to take it "one day at a time" with his recent capitulation concerning smoking.
Or, they try to run the "it takes a lot of work" shit on you. Like, you should feel guilty for even suggesting that they did a good thing.
"Hey, looking good. Great job with the weight loss."
"Well, it wasn't easy."
Shit, I didn't say "Hey, way to rip those calories off your diet, maybe I'll give it a shot over the weekend."
Fucking dumbasses. Why must everyone act like Jesus when they do something good?
So, now my coworker is preaching her diet and wearing clothes that still don't fit her. It's an uneasy feeling to see a 250 pound ham hock in a school girl outfit.
The fat hangs out the sides and becomes a liquid that isn't quit fluid enough to drop, rather it hangs in tear drops off the sides of the big game.
The downfall is when they attempt to fit into spandex and the fat becomes a gas and most of their kidneys, stomach and intestines evaporate like civil liberties in 2002.
I'm tired of hearing about other's healing. If you want to be interesting, you talk about pain. Like, what it's like to have to wipe you ass on a scratching post because you can't reach behind yourself.
I'm tired of hearing about ergonomical correctitude and how it's helping your phantom joints. I have a coworker who thinks she has joints in the pores of her skin. Something is always aching.
The other day she got real serious with us and said she needed to have a group discussion. So, we all hunker in and she begins telling us how she's starting to take insulin shots and that if she acts like a fruit loop, that's the reason.
What the fuck? You're either a fruit loop or not. If you're all fucked up in the first place and need some sort of medication, then you were FUCKED UP IN THE FIRST PLACE. Don't blame your hissy fits on the shit that's supposed to make you better.
Oh, hey everybody, I'm fucking certifiable, so I'm going to be taking some anti-psychotic drugs for awhile. So, if I shoot one of you mother fuckers or rape your ear canal – hey, it's just the drugs that are helping me along.
Lord, Jesus. This is from the same woman who said "I can't believe Pop Tarts are so bad for you." This is after taking the holiday to read the caloric values. "They're a breakfast food." She says.
So, apparently, in the world of insulin hallucinations, all breakfast foods are macro nutritional breakthroughs of science.
"So, doc, I've been trying to lose some weight – what's a good diet?"
"Bacon – and lots of it. Try sprinkling it with Golden Grahams, they're breakfast foods after all."
This is the same woman who goes on a diet and says she's cheating when she eats some fatty food. The problem is, I hear "I'm cheating" three times a day at every meal.
Fuck, I could say I'm on a diet and eat nothing but Dick's Deluxes and tell people I'm "cheating." But, when I blow out into a 300 pound celulitic abscess, I guess it will be hard to carry on the facade.
Once again, my coworkers suck ass.

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