I don’t know about you lazy motherfuckers but my “werkout” playlist is still pumpin’ DMX on repeat. And I’m still liftin’, drippin’, and blendin’ casein-saturated muscle milks for my daily consumption. But I’ve found myself more and more alone in the increasingly less smelly Israel Fitness Center. What the F, people!
This happens every year: we all come back to school, vowing to stay healthy and hit the House of Payne weekly. Then, quite quickly, that initial swell deflates just like your saggy deltoids. Or do you not even know what those are, you pathetic excuse for a trapaholic? The gym was PACKED last week and now it is empty! And honestly, I’m pissed! Who’s gonna spot me when I finally lift that 8 pounder?? Who’s gonna watch when I finally do 123 burping burpees, 45 snitch snatches, and/or 79 kipping pull-ups in my Kipling pullover?? Or do you not even know what those are, you pathetic excuse for someone who can mildly understand Crossfit lingo?
Here are all the things I am doing: cracking three raw eggs in my mouth/on my head every morning, doing 20-25 cartwheels followed by 49 jumping jacks, and taking 24 10-minute naps every hour, on the hour.
Here are all the things you are doing: going to class (pfft) going on walks with friends (??) doing your reading (ugh).
Who’s winning, Yale? Who. Is. Winning. Get back to the gym with me. I’ll check you out from center-floor. Or you’ll probably check me out, but whatever.