Skinny Bitches Only Jog if They Can't Afford Surgery

I’ve decided that after thirty I’m not working out anymore. I’m just going to go and get all the fat sucked out of my body. I’m serious, I want Dr. Rey or somebody to take that big long metal knife and chop me up into little pieces.

Maybe also do some rearranging, like pull the fat from my thighs and put it into my ass. Then mold my gut into some kind of boobage/cleavage creation. That’s right. Get creative! Make me beautiful bitches! By the time I am thirty they will have discovered new ways to make me look like a ten-year-old on crack.

Until then I must eat right and exercise. I say this like I’m on a Jedi mission. Which is the only reason why when my so-called friend asked me to go jogging the other day I said, “yes”.

I don’t jog. Wait, let me rephrase that, I can’t fucking jog. It’s like the Special Olympics. I look like a four-year-old in the grocery store, when their mom just told them they couldn’t have something. You know and they do that run where their head turns into a bobble head and their arms flail around uncontrollably. And they whine, “but mom whyeeeeeeeeee!?”

Yeah that’s me, in spandex.

The last time I went jogging was at the gym and it’s been a few years. I remember huffing and puffing on a treadmill, when this chick like eight months pregnant hops on next to me. No really, not fat she was fucking skinny and pregnant.

After about 5 whole minutes of running I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest started to burn, I needed a hip replacement and I lost all feeling in my knees. And here this bitch was next to me just casually jogging for two.

So anyway, my friend and I ended up on this two-mile trail through the woods. All of which I probably only jogged a good fifteen minutes. The whole time I was thinking about what I was going to eat next. Three days later, my knees are still swollen and I don’t feel any skinnier.

I’m telling ya, I can’t wait until I’m thirty…