Why I go to the Gym

1) It's a good excuse for looking like crap on a stick, because no one looks good pre or post gym...or five hours later when the flatmate comes home and asks me what I have done all day.

2) I can be amongst my unemployed brethren. This means avoid eyecontact with all the buffed up men with sweaty arsecracks that hang around the weights end. Thankfully exertion of most kinds makes my eyesight quite bad, so I find avoiding eyecontact quite easy. It also stops me doing that thing where out of nowhere the thought 'I must not stare at his crotch' pops into my head, and quite obviously the impulse to do the opposite is overpowering. I see it more as pushing bounderies in my mind rather than perving.

3)You, like, only get one body and it's totally in your hands how it looks. This year I have already given myself the haircut and colour of a boss-eyed French lesbian and bodged my eyebrows so hopefully having a better physique will make me look more like a toned boss-eyed French lesbian, which is preferable, at least until the hair grows out and I go back to resembling the the boring pasty straighty that I really am.

4)Going to the gym actually involves a few hours of mental psyching, an hour or so actually there and then at least the rest of the day on the sofa feeling very smug. I like sitting on the sofa feeling smug. Eating Nutella out the jar.

5) Whilst striding around town on a very important missions such as buying coathooks or trying to find somewhere that stocks edemame I can laugh at all the deskanimals with their straining shirts, bingo wings and various chins. Yeah, they have a wage, speak to people on a regular basis, have a career, a goal in life, real reasons to leave the house.....I HAVE THIN ARMS!

In summary: I am a smug and shallow cunt who will get killed by raging fatties way before they all die of heart disease anyway.