So, I was pumping some big, bad 25 lb dumbbells in the mirror at my local fitness establishment admiring my “swole” when I had a thought: I wonder when my shoulders will be wider than my gut? About that time, this skinny dude walks over, stands next to me, and goes, “Wow! I’m getting so fat! I look like a cow!”
No, jerky. You look like an emaciated beaver on crack.
More importantly, if you look like a cow then I must look like a corn-fed wildebeest. I mean, seriously. Turn sideways so I don’t have to look at you.
Why do skinny people always pull that crap? If he was looking for a compliment from me, he obviously picked the wrong dude. My reply was stifling and direct, “Yeah, you should probably kill yourself.” It was absolutely dripping with sarcasm, but the look on his face says he thought I was serious. So, to the Bradford County Sheriffs Office, if you end up having to talk this guy down from the power line (tallest thing in Bradford County) where he stands perched for the leap of death, just bill me for your time.
Anyway, 45 minutes on the maniac machine, 15 minutes worth of running as punishment for being a fat bastard, and chest/triceps in the weight room. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.