John Lee Taggart

I looked in the mirror yesterday after a shower, and just thought “you fat cunt” – actually I said it out loud (is that worse or better?), this was followed by a look of disdain from both myself and the reflection that stared back at me. I practically wept…I mean, what the hell has happened to me?!

“IT’S NOT MEEEE – IT CAN’T BEEEEEEEEE?!?!?!?!”

I don’t know what it is…there’s just something about looking like a huge slab of pork, that makes me vomit in my mouth every time I catch sight of myself. I wished that I could refer to my gigantic sides as love handles, but right now they are just flabby masses that my tighter t-shirts can no longer handle – yeyyyy, baggy shirts that make me look like even more of a walrus! Great. I wish I could be all sassy and “I’m comfortable with who I am, so if you don’t like it, fuck off” but that’s not me at all…

Instead I am left to dwell on the poor quality human I am…maybe this is too much information, but I don’t think the man-boob nipple area is supposed to look as much like a beef burger as mine does – I suppose they do say you are what you eat though, so in that sense – fair enough. That theory would also explain my fatty chicken thighs, pork chop cheeks, jelly belly, and spotted dick. hahaha! I’m just joking…or am I? No I am…or…no I am.

Anyway, I decided that I had to do something about it so immediately signed up for the local gym in my new town! I was full of so much enthusiasm that first day, I quite literally hopped and skipped all the way there! I was ready to get started!

“White men can’t jump? FUCK YOU STEREOTYPES! God, I’m thirsty.”

It was an absolute nightmare. Just checking, but are you supposed to feel sick after every single movement? You’re not right? Even the ones where you get to sit down are a challenge…who ever thought sitting down would be anything but nice? You have to push the heavy things, pull the heavy things, pick them up…put them down, do it again, have a break (but not like a tea and biscuit type break, just water) – but you know…oh, you know – that soon you will be going back to the same thing in just a few short moments. I mean it’s terrifying really. My body was literally screaming, STOPPPPPPPP, PLEASE STOP, IF YOU STOP WE CAN GET A DOUGHNUT AND JUST FORGET ABOUT THIS WHOLE THING! And I was inclined to agree with my body, but then of course there are mirrors everywhere and you remember why you are there in the first place – the reason being that it looks like you are wearing a life jacket under your clothing, and you are worried people may use you as a buoyancy aid should you be swimming in the sea.

I have taken a “before photo”, which is just beyond gross – in the hope that I can compare it with the after model that I will carve out…which will hopefully be an amazing, superbly chiseled physique, …God like if you will…but not like beardy and robes, but all Greek…in short, I want to transform myself into a creature of mythological proportions, a person who inspires awe, so much so that people tell stories to their children about me…possibly even folk songs, or cave paintings…

This will be me at the New Year countdown ~

“I LIKEA DO DA CHA-CHA AT THA GUN SHOW!”

That’s not asking too much, surely?

I am returning home for Christmas this year, first time in three years that I will spend it with my family (missed the last two, booohooo!) By my rough estimations, (which are not fueled by mathematical and/or scientific evidence) – this should be more than enough time to right the wrongs that I have did to myself.

“There’s no such thing as too much groin.”

In other, entirely unrelated news – boxes of Krispy Kreme are buy one get one free today. Good times!

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