Coogles and man eaters

When I walk down the passage Will makes beeping noises and warns people of a wide load… I, in turn, have named his belt “equator” and yell “please don’t eat me” when he walks in the door.
This is “the fight of the fat” and Will started it, not because I am stereotypically obese but because it is a fail save way to piss me off… Lately however the situation has escalated and the light hearted every-now-and-then banter has become obsessive stabbing… here I take responsibility… When Will moved in with us he was in the okay shape one would expect from someone who spent years drinking…errr… I mean playing on a mediocre to kak school rugby team…However my good food, his inexhaustible appetite for it and the chair bound life of an obsessive geek has made his clothing shrink and his gut expand.
I do understand that the African sun is harsh on a man and that growing a gut would at least shade his genitals but I do fear the effects that eternal shade my have on the young man… nothing grows in the shade after all.
Anyway in the hopes of achieving a truce Will and I joined a gym.

We set of in search of a suitable price … I mean facility on Monday afternoon and our attentions were immediately drawn to the bright red and blue of one of our countries top franchises.
I parked my poor Corsa at the end of a line of shinny BMW’s and walked away very quickly.
Inside an umpa-lumpa shaped consultant collected us for a terribly brief tour of the gym.
As we walked we passed a spinning class that reminded me of a bunch of grapes. Ten red faced round coogles pedaled for dear life in their branded pink gym gear as they glared at us with apparent disapproval.
In another section we found a sinewy stick insect lifting free weights, he looked much too interested in Will so we moved on with speed.
We were introduced to treadmills with built in TV’s and reclinable bikes. I found this terribly ironic, but quickly realized that I was the only one and that rich people don’t like you laughing when their training.
We were whisked into a tiny damp little office where the Umpa-Lumpa lady pretended to make us a great deal.
This must have been the cardio facility because once the final figures and a 36 month contract was shown to me I left complaining of severe cardio vascular failure.

We decided to try one other place before giving ourselves in to prospect of eternal flab and took a short left to an independently managed gym in a mall.
This time the salesperson didn’t resemble anything out of a kiddies book and we would soon find out that the gym was running on an impromptu world wrestling federation theme.
The hairless Chewbacca paraded an intimidated me and an inadequate looking Will past some of his kin who looked like they were on a strict diet of dinosaur dung and human beings. One of them grunted at me and I almost crapped myself.
There were TVless treadmills and a hysterically happy aerobics teacher who proves the release of endorphins by physical activity.
At the back they have a room with machines that shocks the living shit out of you until your fat surrenders and buggers off.
They also offer kickboxing and I have signed Will up for belly dancing.
Chewy drew up some numbers and undercut the coogle gym by almost half… we signed the twelve month contract (Partly because I feared the consequences of saying no to this man eater) and we are now members of an elite S.A click who are addicted to physical fitness.

Next week Will and I have to go for a body analysis so that they can put percentages to our fat.
I am challenging Will… If you post your fat percentage rubbish I’ll post mine for the whole wide world to see.

In the comments say whatever you want… your going to anyway… and if anybody posts “whatever you want” you get 10 smart ass points

Peace out peeps