OMG is that my beer belly? And I have boobs! I’m so sexay!

Oscar Wilde on fatties

As I have mentioned here and here, I have been trying to lose weight for the longest time, but with tragic results. After taking a break from losing weight (I needed to regain my composure- and dignity) I have sort of lost control over my increasingly spiraling weight and, well, even my baggy jeans have felt tight. So what do you do in a situation like this?

You lock yourself up in a room, play with your man boobs for a couple of hours and when you get bored, scream your lungs out until you pass out. When you wake up in a pool of your own drool, you look at your reflection in the mirror and you see that you’re still, um, fat.

So now I will again seek my elusive victory in the weight-loss game by trying out new strategies. Coz you see, I want to be sexy and muscular just like this guy:

I mean, who wouldn’t?

You won’t? Screw you, that’s my dream.

Plan # 7:

I’m so desperate to lose weight I’d try anything. Even if it means I have to do the gayest of the gay exercises. And that means yoga.

Just in case you’re wondering why I find yoga gay, just ask yourself: those people who do yoga are so flexible they contort themselves up in unimaginable shapes. I shudder at the thought of them self-fellating during those cold winter nights they spend alone. I mean, Tom Cruise does it, why wouldn’t they?

Speaking of Tom Cruise, just read what Scientology has to say about yoga:

“OOOOOOOOOooooohh yeah! I’m in love and I’ll jump like an idiot on Oprah’s couch to prove it!”

Oh shit, wrong quote. Here’s the correct one:

“Yoga may be teh gayeth, but it really does wonders. My pot belly is now gone, and my skin is brighter. Of course it could be the bukkake I got yesterday, but I really think it’s the yoga.”

Ok, I have to start. I’ll try one of the basic yoga positions, Eka-Pada-Rajakapotasana. What? I said basic, not unprononceable.

Let’s see… I’ll put this leg here, and I’ll bend my back, and I’ll… I’ll… Wait, where did that cracking sound come from? Whose ribcage is this? Where is this blood coming from? Is… is.. that my spleen?

I think I’m gonna faint.

Plan # 8:
Bangkok Pills

Now some people would warn me that Bangkok Pills should be the last thing I should touch because it is laced with shabu. Well, I don’t care. I wanna get thin, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if I become retarded because of illegal drugs frying my brain (I’m already retarded to begin with, so why bother?).

So after obtaining one from the black market and an awesome escape from the police using a turbo-powered rickshaw and an invisible car, I settle down in my room, and holding the pack of hard-earned illegal pills in front of me, I unceremoniously dunked them in my mouth.

I came to five days later. What happened during the time I was out was a blur, but I do remember someone telling me that I was spotted walking along Kalayaan avenue wearing only my underpants and singing Boom Tarat.

Moral of the story? Don’t do drugs, or you’ll create retarded shit like this on the interwebs when you’re high.

Plan # 9:
Photoshop, Angelica Panganiban-style

If I rally can’t manage to lose weight the old-fashioned way, I guess I have to embrace technology to help me become thin. I mean, it worked for Angelica Panganiban, it should also work for me, right?

So I bring out one of my most unflattering photographs and I will seek to Photoshop it to pure manly perfection.

First I will do the equivalent of stomach crunches by brushing out my stomach, and then I’ll remove my ginormous man boobs, and then I’ll clean out my blemishes, and then fix the lighting. And I’ll take out the wheelbarrow as well. It’s such an ugly object unfitting my new physique. Wait, I think I got something messed up. Here we go, I fixed it. Here’s my newly edited picture!

Waittasec… I think I need more work on this Photoshop thing.

So what do you guys think? Comment away!

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