Call Me Jack LaLame

by Marc VanDerMeer
Reluctant Fitness Guru

OK, you bastards, I'll do it if it'll shut your fuckin' noise holes. Here it is... pull those goddamned gnawed-to-shit baby-back rib bones out of your ears and listen for once.

When the rest of the office guys aren't making fun of my narrow ass or accusing me of everything from having a coke habit to Satan worship, they're asking me how I manage to stay in decent shape. Apparently, I'm the only forty-plus-year-old desk jockey in Illinois whose dork would get wet if he stood outside naked in a rainstorm with a hard-on or something, so I guess that qualifies me to give fitness advice.

No matter how many times I tell these schmucks my so-called "secret", they insist I write some kind of physical training regimen or diet plan or something. So here it is, Flabbos... don't blink or you'll miss the "secret":

Eat less. Exercise more.

I know that's a lot to wrap your tubby minds around, so I'll break it down into more digestible bites for you (which is something you may want to try, Lardissimo. Jesus, the way you fuckers swallow brats at tailgate parties would make Jenna Jameson bow to you in awe!)

Step One: Eat less.

a) Try to get through the workday with a lunchbox that doesn't need a frickin' outboard motor. Seriously, it's not that rough.

b) Eat a little slower, too. You ain't Kobiyashi.

c) Cut back on the condiments, for crying out loud. I've seen your so-called "salad". That ain't a salad - it's a couple croutons floating in bowl of ranch dressing with just enough lettuce to make you drop a bowl-busting asspile during your 2:30 break. Damn.

d) Drink three *good* beers during the game. Trust me, they have more flavor than the 16 or 18 mugs of Old Pisswater Draft you chug combined. And would a glass of water every now and then kill you?

Step Two: Exercise more.

a) Nothing exotic - push-ups, ab crunches, stuff like that. Just about ten or fifteen minutes a day or so - less than the amount of time it takes you to squeeze all that ass in and out of your sedan in the parking lot at work each morning. Hell yes, I watch. And time you. And laugh.

b) Here's another one - try walking your goddamned dog. Have a heart: he's marked every square inch of your back yard, and the sole joy in a dog's life is discovering new places to shit.

To reiterate: Eat less. Exercise more.

It is that easy. I'm living, breathing proof. No pills, no expensive food plan, no frizzy-haired homos prancing around in leotards - just eat less and exercise more.

There. Now my "secret" has been "published." Will you believe me now and let it fuckin' drop, or do I need to charge you three easy installments of $39.95 plus shipping and handling, Moby?