Sleeping Under Enon

solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris

Is it easier to gain weight or join the Cybermen?

Spritina offers Skeletor spoo in the She-Ra: P...

My target weight. Image via Wikipedia

Forget losing weight, gaining weight is the bastard.

Given my striking resemblance to He-Man’s arch-enemy with less of the bulk, I have decided to make more of an effort to put on some valuable pounds before the freezing cold winter months draw in. This, apparently, is a lot more difficult than I had been lead to believe. I was under the impression that if you so much as blinked while in the presence of a ready meal you would gain at least three stone via some sort of fatty osmosis, so I was expecting this to be a relatively easy feat to achieve. To be perfectly honest, even on the days where I think I’ve eaten an excessive amount of food, my calorie intake probably only amounts to what a normal adult should actually be getting, so complaining of my lack of weight gain probably isn’t that surprising to anyone who has hung out with me for the day.

So I have decided to take a somewhat drastic measure. Exercise. Given the firm physique I’ve carefully built up from years of sitting on a computer chair, this decision to move once in a while is almost sickening. I appreciate that it sounds weird that I’m exercising to try to gain weight when most people exercise to lose it, but I assure you that I am not engaging in reverse psychology with myself. I’m going down the route of building muscle  instead of simply trying to imitate the hordes of chinless sacks of lard, given that muscle weighs more than fat and muscle is more desirable than fat in pretty much every scenario I would like to imagine (though I am still undecided on whether a fat chick or a female Arnie is preferable, if the dichotomy was forced upon me).

Not only am I feebly trying to lift heavier weights than usual, I’m also quaffing mouthfuls of some protein shake drink. It’s not the worse thing in the world admittedly, and it’s far less hassle to make than, say, a pasta dish. But I never felt like an absolute twat buying a bag of pasta and some pesto, unlike when I walked into a health store and stood there gawping at huge tubs of powder adorned with pictures of people who looked like they eat cement for at least two meals of the day. What annoys me about situations like this is that in situations where I am a complete novice I act like some fuckwitted tourist with a giant camera and shirt of the local sports team. I have no idea why my communication skills utterly break down when put in an alien environment. I’m not a complete idiot. Mental ability is something I like to think I have an abundance of, yet put me in a health store surrounded by vitamins and minerals I have no knowledge of and I become a babbling moron. It doesn’t help that at the time I was wearing black nail varnish and ‘alternative’ clothes, so couldn’t have stuck out more even if I’d blacked up and started doing jazz hands on the counter.

When approached by the assistant, who had spotted me mentally flailing, I should have said something like ‘Hi, I’m not entirely sure which of these to go for, but I’d like a relatively inexpensive one of these weight gain tubs, so could you please recommend me one?’. What I actually said was something like ‘Errr, I don’t get much protein in my diet so……I mean, I don’t really eat enough..I’m trying to put on weight because errrr…..I don’t really eat meat?’. Somehow, the encounter ended in me getting hold of what I wanted, so kudos to the staff at the York Health Centre shop.

My rugby-playing house mate said it would take longer than two weeks for me to get any real benefit from this program of buttfucking my arms and stomach muscles whilst filling my insides with sludgy brown liquid (I chose the chocolate flavoured shake), and that I will have to exercise four times a week with a rest day every other day. So if this doesn’t work I’m going to be seven shades of pissed (not the one involving alcohol, that’s the eighth shade).

After having just watched an episode of Doctor Who about the Cybermen, I guess I could always cast off my fleshy shell and replace it with a cybernetic one, though preferably one that doesn’t look like it was made in the same knock-off factory that makes the storm trooper’s armour. On a side note, why do the storm troopers even bother with armour? It doesn’t seem to protect them from anything, certainly not lasers at any rate. Or even Ewoks. If your armour can’t protect you against stick-wielding teddy bears you might as well go into battle wearing some jeans and a shirt. Maybe accessorize with a pendant or bracelet… Ahem. Anyway.

So that’s my plan; bulk up, or join the Cybermen. Wish me luck.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: