Fat Ass-essment

I tried losing weight the easy way with two colon cleanses. First, an eastern practice called "Korean Barbeque." Then I bought pills at the grocery store. The former was much more violent and effective then the latter. Neither showed long term results.

So I joined a gym yesterday. Learning from past experiences when I've worked out for two months, then shook my fist every time I drove past the gym for the next ten months of my contract, I chose a three-month plan. This obviously offended every employee of the 24-Hour Fitness, who stopped by the membership table to tell me I was making the worst decision of my life. I think taking a job that requires mesh shirts is a worse life decision, but I have the decency to keep my opinion to myself-- 'til now.

Today I met with trainer Chelsea for my "complimentary assessment", which is their term for "pinch my fat and make me feel bad." After opening the pincher to the jaws-of-life setting, then squeezing it around my arms, bellybutton and back fat, Chelsea declared that I am 32% fat. I am 56 lbs of fat and 114 lbs of moisturizer and nonsequitor stories. Then she presented me with a graph that a chimpanzee with excel could create and asked me to find myself on the chart. Not only are we assessing my fattiness, but we are testing my vision and counting skills as well.

"I see that 25-years-old and 32 % body fat is 'overweight', bordering on the 'at risk' column." At risk of dying at young and leaving a corpse they can't fit through my front door.

"How does that make you feel?" Chelsea asked. Why is she trying to sell me on the need to workout? I walked into the gym, slapped my debit card on the counter and volunteered to join. This is not an intervention after I asphyxiated on Crispy Creams but couldn't call for help because I was wedged in the ass groove of my couch. I know I need to workout.

"Just as fat as I felt when I decided to join a gym, yesterday." She does not care for me.

"So what's your fitness goal?"

"To look better naked." Obvioiusly, isn't that everyone's goal? That's not what she meant though.

"Can you find where you'd like to be on this chart?" I pointed to the word "healthy" and "20 to 24-years-old."

"Just 'healthy', you don't want to go for 'in shape'? You're going to put in all this work and say "No, I'm not going to take it to the next level. I just want to be healthy."" Here, I thought healthy was a good thing. I had no idea it was considered so revolting and possibly unfuckably fat. But now I'm forced to stand by my statement because I hate 24-Hour Fitness employees and all the uneccessary piecharts they believe in

"I don't know what these numbers look like. Do you have pictures?" She did not. So I chose "24" as my goal. "24" is my birthday and the day my gym membership expires.

Then she questioned why I didn't go to the gym for the last 18 months and how I let myself get this fat as she filled out a form and filed it in my permanent record that a chimp in a mesh shirt will eventually throw away.

Dear John Stewart's Balls

Nice to see you, tonight. Usually you let the brains shove you back under the desk before getting too offensive. But not tonight. You punched the brains in the face, leapt over the desk strangled John McCain before he could further defend Bush's troop policy.

I hope The Daily Show's new studio has a reinforced floor to hold your extra weight.

Love and Respect,
Apocalypstick