Like trying to lift the bar after having a failed attempt at bench press without a spotter. Just because you’ve added a tad too much weight as a result of feeling much younger than the middle-age you are, only to realise that feeling younger doesn’t necessarily constitutes being younger. Not like that’s ever happened to me. I’m just saying one might be pressurised to stretch yourself when all the people around you are so fittin’ buff.
There is this gym I go to. A lovely airconditioned venue with a pool and machines and everything. A wonderful place where crazy people like me, choose to put their bodies through all types of torture. We even pay a monthly membership to be able to do so. It’s like that place Tom Cruise stumbled upon in “Eyes wide shut” but without the masks. And the sex. And the hot woman. It’s basically not like that place at all, if only for the excess bodily fluid. Continue reading
Sorry for causing painful flashbacks to some of you as you read my title. And if you’re not moved in any way, you’re a masochist. You probably consider 50 Shades of Grey a beautiful piece of literature and like all things kinky and painful. To wet your sick appetite for more moments of pain spread throughout this post, I’ve decided to add some visual stimulation in the form of tooth porn…
No I didn’t. Or rather, I couldn’t. The high levels of disgust after seeing some disturbing pictures of bad teeth prevented me from posting. Most of them I seriously regret finding. Which should be a warning to all: Don’t Google Image everything you can think of!
I decided to play it safe and stick with a simple Wikipedia schematic that would be appropriate for a (mostly) kid friendly blog. This will prevent permanent scaring of my readers or not.
Got this pretty little diagram from Wikipedia, which might still haunt your dreams for a very long time.
“If you pay me, I’ll make you sweat.”
I was sitting at a machine where you attempt to increase the size of your biceps by lifting weights tied to a wire. It’s not a medieval torture device or a prop from Game Of Thrones, if you were wondering, it’s basic gym equipment. Biceps are muscles covered by a shirt, unseen throughout winter. Summer arrived in all it’s glory, which implies: Sun’s out, Guns out. (Thanks Channing Tatum) My own biceps are more like little, pearly-white revolvers, hence my need for growing them, so I can get them tanned. I know, it’s a process.
Next to me was a personal trainer. Or a sadist. Or a female version of the twisted sicko, idolised as Christian Grey. Any of these references would be accurate in describing those people with genetically gifted, perfect bodies who find some weird sense of achievement in causing extreme and long-lasting pain to people who has the genetic make-up of a whale or worse. These whales and other McDonald-eating victims are fooled into thinking that they can also achieve the body of a heroin-addict. Provided that they do everything that they’re told. And drink Diet coke. Like some cult in Utah. Continue reading
Courtesy of the guy who played two-face in the movie…
I am less than pleasant when I wake up in the morning. I am Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey and Shitty all in one. The thought of an alarm clock shattering the silent night evokes feelings of anger and dread, similar to those I had when I tried to finish 50 Shades of Crap.
I don’t mind if a wake up from a pleasant slumber, WITHOUT the assistance of an alarm, but the early shrieks of that little piece of shit, every weekday, is enough to make me want to murder someone.
‘Cause it happens at 04h30. ‘Cause I go to the gym. Continue reading