My ass and I were having a lively discussion today.
Mabel (yes, that's her name. I can name my ass if I want- so there.) argues that the reason she is starting to resemble a pair of cheap pantyhose stuffed with jell-o salad is because of my total disdain for any sort of physical exercise lately.
I had to disagree. I believe that there are several factors at play here:
1) Global warming. The weather is all fucked up so I can't get outside and do the things I like to do as often. I detest indoor exercise as much as I detest non-alcoholic family functions. Sure, I'll do it, but I ain't gonna like it or be any good at it.
2) I firmly believe that I was abducted by an renegade group of experimental doctors at a young age. They implanted me with a chip somewhere in my body that would allow me to have the metabolism of an Olympic athlete until the age of 27, when the chip would self-activate and bring my metabolism to a screeching, smoking halt. I believe that they have been monitoring me this whole time, and they are the reason my doctor's office 'needs" to weigh me each and every freaking time I walk through the door. These same doctors are also responsible for my intolerance for excessively loud R&B music and teenage hooligans as I get older.
3) The earth's gravity is increasing (my unsubstantiated theory, keep your opposing views on this one to yourself) therefore it is harder to move around. You know when you feel like you absolutely, positively CAN'T get off the couch? Well, maybe you really can't. Maybe gravity has increased so much that we are incapable of moving in certain situations. I also believe that certain foods are more affected by this increased gravity as well. A few of the foods most affected are: cheese, anything "chippy", dairy-based dips, burritos, pizzas (all crust styles), olives, cured pork products and anything in the chocolate family. I am currently working to prove these theories and my report should be finished by the spring of 2019.
Mabel agrees with numbers 2 and 4, but she says that I'm pretty much full of shit on the other two.
"Shut up, Mabel! Don't make me squeeze you into a too-small and too-short swimsuit again! That was no fun for anyone involved, but I'll do it again if you push me too far, I swear!"
I think I need some cheap bubbly out of an old-school glass in a rotating, top-floor cheesy hotel restaurant to calm down:
Now, someone go and get me a damn cookie already.