Friday, November 09, 2012
Stomach Fat (in voice so oily that it could grease a badger): 'ullo.
Me: So, SF, seems like we've got a bit of a problem.
SF: I don't see no problem.
Me: ... hang on a tick, I'm Welsh, why on earth have you got a Brooklyn accent?
SF: I dunno, maybe you watch too many movies. Anyway, youse got some kinda problem?
Me: You need to get moving.
Me: Move. I'm giving you your marching orders, the arms, legs, they're toning up (a bit), why aren't you playing ball?
SF: You heard me, they're quitters, I see you still got double chin and a spare ass though.
Me (grudgingly): they're ... improving
SF: Yeah, yeah, tell it to someone who cares. Me, the hips and that padded wasteland you call a backside, we ain't going nowhere, see. We've got a non-aggression treaty, see...
Me:... you're not Jimmy Cagney
SF: Shut up. Non-aggression. Like NAT-O, but you know, FAT-O.
Me: It's pronouced 'nate-o', and anyway that doesn't make any sense: Fat Atlantic Treaty Organisation?
SF: Hey, I'm gut fat, I ain't no brain.
Stomach Fat shrugs, it looks pretty much like a truffle shuffle.
The room goes quiet.
Me: .... I'm going to kettlebells tonight.
SF: Yeah? Good for you, you enjoy it sweetheart. It ain't gonna do you no good. I ain't moving.
Me: Maybe, maybe not. Do you want to know something SF?
SF: Enlighten me.
Me: One pound of fat can fill a pint glass. A whole pint glass! To be honest, I'm glad when a single pound shifts from somewhere; you've got to know your days are numbered - sooner or later those pints glasses, they're coming for you. I'll be thinking about that in kettlebells tonight. When I'm swinging 6lb.
SF: Hey, you only swing a 4 on Fridays.
Me: Not any more.
SF (wobbling, in a menacing fashion): Hey, hey, hey.... now don't be hasty. You'll do yourself an injury.
Me: *shrugs* I'll be fine.
SF: Why're you doing this?! We're friends! Think of all the Chinese we've enjoyed together!
Me: Marching orders. You've been given them. Sooner or later you will go.