Bukkoroshite yaru….I’ll hit you till you die.

After 5 weeks on the booze, plenty of food and a lack of exercise, I knew I’d lost the mean, slender machine that triggered Steve Montaya to proclaim “nice ass.” hey, it’s a holiday.

Returning to the office, I got a few comments….wow you’re fat….bus coming through…do u want us to tie two seats together.” I knew it when I got tired chasing a mosquito.

hmmm. I’ve always been a skinny guy especially at school, put on the odd belly but took it back. But glancing at my ankles, I knew the lard and the fan had met. They were huge, puffy, old women-esque. A sneaky belly indeed: he knew he was in trouble, slithered down me legs to the hide-out, so he did. Well that was it.

I headed to the gym and had to sit down after getting changed. Not bothering to warm up, straight on to the bike, with the chaffed thighs. great idea. 8500m later in a mere 15mintues, I’d had it. Off to sort the tits out, I pounded the weights, so she did.

After that red-faced overdose, I weighed myself. 71kgs. Remember me? Before I left, I was 65kgs. That’s a few all-days breakfast, my china. It’ll go, that I know but meeting my doctors the other day, the first comment…”Oh you look healthy.” Yeah? Really? That right? Why I oughta….

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