First World Problems - Part 3

Hey you! Yeah you! The jiggly bit around my waist. That’s right. You.

F*CK YOU BELLY!

Avid readers (i.e. me) of this fine repository of literary genius may remember a previous posting - First Word Problems (part 2) - from back in May of this year.

This post concluded by throwing down the gauntlet - I must shed almost and stone and hit 12 stone 7 before the wedding.

In the months that followed I developed a cunning strategy to achieving this goal - binge dieting and binge exercising.

The concept is a simple one - like a Eurozone economy, it's all about the double dip. The strategy has 3 steps:


Step 1 (dip) - Lose weight by bingeing. Get wedding suits fitted.
Step 2 - Stop bingeing. Get fat again. Have a merry Christmas.
Step 3 (double dip) - Repeat step one. Get married


So far today I have eaten an excellent Chilango Burrito, 3 cookies and half a bag of Haribo. Why? Because today I weighed in at 12 stone and 5.6 pounds - I've lost a stone in just over 2 months.

For the first time in a very long time, the stupid BMI measure tells me I am no longer overweight. Victory is mine.


The best part was, the 69 days this took wasn't even that tough. Training for the run helped, lots of weights helped and now swimming is helping. The diet - a 'slow carb' diet championed by Tim Ferris in the book '4 Hour Body' - was pretty easy:

• No carbs unless they are beans or lentils
• Shed loads of protein
• Only drink red wine (I added single malt whisky to this because it is goooood)
• Binge day once a week

So you get to eat meat, meat and more meat 6 days a week and gorge on pizza, cheese and haribo on a Saturday. That's not a diet my friend, that's a privilege.


Wow, I just read back what I've written so far. Sounds like a weight watchers advertorial. Apologies. I'm not going to change it though - want to keep this as a reminder for me!


Now Step 1 is done, I don't think I want to do Step 2 anymore - question now becomes whether I want to stay where I am or try and get totally tonk and chase one of my lifetime goals I mentioned earlier...

What a completely dull and off topic post. Sorry. How can I get back on track?

Ummmm, I'm lazy and angry- rarrr. Done.

F*ck You Buddy!

Hey you! Yeah you! The fat guy from the office gym. That’s right. You.

F*CK YOU BUDDY!

In what world is it acceptable to dry yourself using the hand dryer in the changing rooms, meat and two veg angrily flapping around as if someone was testing their aerodynamics in a wind tunnel. In fact, I’ll tell you how aerodynamic they are – IT DOESN’T F*CKING MATTER WHEN THEY ARE THAT SMALL.

If you’re really that proud of your boatrace, take a f*cking photo and keep it in your wallet rather than subject me to that scarring sight when I’m already about to chunder  following a particularly intense work out (BEEEEEEFCAAAAAKE).

And one other thing. EVERY DAMN TIME YOU DO IT, you do not have to loudly justify that you only do it because  you don’t want to get your f*cking towel wet. Jesusteabagginchrist you are a ridiculous excuse for a human and all I have to say is F*CK YOU BUDDY.

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So there I was sat in an excellent bar in the sublime city of Philadelphia with my beautiful fiancée (suck up comment following previous post’s admission of lycra fetish. Check.) reading the local paper. Scanning through the personal ads (American personal ads are comedy gold by the way) I came on to something even better – the rants section.

Whilst hugely “American” in content and literary style (rants included gems such as, “Why you so fat? I see you waddling yo fat ass down the centre of the sidewalk. How’s a fella meant to get paaast when you so fat?”) the column was incredibly entertaining.

It was at that point a lightbulb flashed on in my head – FYB.com – F*ck You Buddy.

FYB.com will be my Facebook, and I its Zuckerberg. Together - fuelled by advertising, brand endorsements and a range of official FYB merchandise - I will make one meeeeelion dollars. Perhaps even one hundred beeelion dollars and never have to work again allowing me to more actively pursue my lifelong ambitions of doing the man-o-man pec dance and becoming a 1337 member of Str8 Rippin

"So how does it work" I hear you cry? Simple, you have 160 words (a la my rant about the shower guy – this is totally true and very disgusting and also exactly 160 words) to vent. This vent must be directed at a specific individual – if they can recognise themselves from your rant, even better. The location, time and date must be specified. Other users "like" or "dislike" your rant, allowing for a “rants of the day / week etc.” to be formed. One day I hope to add some kind of "right of reply" functionality if you can somehow prove that the rant is aimed at you. I have no idea how that would work.

Together, we create a community of the angriest people in London, the UK, even the world and head steadfastly towards global domination by the invective tribe with me as its handsome and charismatic (yet lethargic) leader. It’s a flawless plan.

However, by now you will have spotted the main problem with this plan. Much like a Justin Bieber autobiography - I am writing about this venture, spilling all my secrets and sharing the lightbulb moment with all 3 of the readers of this blog (me at work, me at home and me on my mobile) before I have actually done anything. Whoops.

Thing is, I can’t make websites (with the exception of my effort with the Wokingham Town U16s website some 11 years ago – it was hosted by Freeserve, was a member of a "football webring" and had pictures and frames and everything) and I am quite lazy and awfully busy.

Anyone want to make this for me? You can be my Winklevoss twins…