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You know you’re going to give up. I know you’re going to give up. Just get the fuck out of here and stop wasting everyone’s time. Wouldn’t you rather be sitting on your couch, stuffing your gaping pie-hole with tasty treats? Can’t you smell the chocolate? The doughnuts? The popcorn and candy? Get the fuck out of my face. I hope you die of a fucking heart attack. Anything to free up some space in a place I call home… year round.
That’s right, douchebags. It’s that time of year again. Those first couple of months of the year when all the pretenders plop down a few ducats and start trying to shed those pounds. Give… me… a… fucking… break. If you were serious about it, you wouldn’t have waited to make a New Year’s resolution to do something about it. Every January, all the pathetic fatties who want to do something about the disgusting bodies decide to get a gym membership. And by the end of winter… when spring is in the air, they all just give up. That $34.99/month starts going right into the owner’s pocket. What a complete waste of time and money.
Finally, no more waiting for a machine. No more Bon-Bon chugging cunts asking me for fitness advice. I am just a member here. I don’t want to help you. This is my time, not yours. Go… away. Spring is in the air. Fat fuckers are dropping like flies. I feel less claustrophobic. Rack spring time in New England.