Christmas- it’s the most wonderful time of the year for people who can’t stop shovelling processed gunk in their gormless pieholes. Me, for example. And it’s great- not only do people keep bringing you little parcels of wrapped and ribboned colon cancer, but you’ll also not be able to resist picking up similar digestive system-ruiners when you call to your local Tesco 4,071 times during the month of December. This year, I splashed out on a half-baked chocolate log, whose box squealed ‘half the fun is baking your own Log! Just place me in the oven for 35 minutes and spend the rest of your afternoon decorating me with the icing turfed into this box as an afterthought!’ Brilliant, I thought at the time, I’ll be like a fucking Yankee Candle Christmas display baking this bastard, and off I went to buy it. Only a few days later, resentfully lobbing it into the oven (which I was standing well back from because the amount of Christmas alcohol is my system left me in danger of going on fire) and sitting on the icing packet to try and liquidise it did I realise that I’d paid double the price for half the product. Needless to say, I’m never fucking baking again.
But that’s what Christmas is all about- stuffing your already nearly vomitting self with crap that’s so full of additives that when they dig up your corpse decades after death, it will still be stuck to your skeletal pelvis, perfectly intact. That mother ain’t never going to break down, bitch.
So this month’s exercise move is brought to you by those people who innocently went down to their local precinct to do some shopping and were unwittingly filmed by a regional news team from behind, and later turned on the 6 o’clock news and had the misfortune of seeing their arse and muffin top splayed across the TV screen with statistics about obesity plastered over them, and is called ‘Getting Rid of Your Christmas Chocolate For A Healthier New Year By Eating It All This Week’.
Here’s how to do it:
Start off slow by lying on the sofa in your pyjamas all day, ensuring your heart is at resting rate. Small bursts of activity, such as switching over Friends when you realise that it’s going to be one of those fucking episodes full of clips from past bloody episodes, or taking time out to work out your thumbs by joining well-meaning but definite bullshit groups on Facebook like ‘New Year, New Me’ and ‘Slimming World 4 Lyf’. If your thumbs are starting to feel strained, that only means its working.
Your friend texts you, ‘It’s January, lazybones! Fancy a game of tennis?’ Work out that chest and shoulder area by sobbing quietly to yourself. Take your workout up a gear by ugly crying AND texting back, ‘Death in the family, you cheeky fuckbag. Piss off.’ Speaking of piss, you cannot deny that days in your pyjamas have left you smellier than an old Odor-Eater that Christina Aguilera was using as a tampon, so kick your workout into an even higher gear by heaving yourself off the sofa for a whore’s bath. Feel the burn!
During your whore’s bath, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and realise that all of the Christmas overindulgence has left you looking like Kirstie Alley after she ate Clare from Steps. Work those forehead muscles as you frown a lot at the state of yourself.
Work those calves and thighs as you lunge to the kitchen with the intention of throwing out all junk food as you vow to make a lifestyle change once and for all. When you start to feel the burn your legs, step your workout up a notch by grabbing the Iceland carrier bag that you ironically carried all of your colon-blowing purchases home with after buying them enthusiastically mere days prior, to throw them away in. Then, when your core is least expecting it, stop lunging and grabbing, and take you heart down to a resting level again by focusing on your neck area as you shake your head upon realising that you’re far too much of a repulsive addict to throw out your junk food stash.
Engage in some heart-healthy cardio as you feel you heart back-flip with delight as you decide to get rid of all of your junk food by eating it now instead of throwing it in the bin like you really should.
End strong with your workout as you take your Iceland bag full of Intestine Polyfiller and trudge back to the sofa to find that part of the seat that your arse has indented. As you settle in for an afternoon of Maury’s Best Bits, bring your heart back to resting level as you toss the sugarcoated gout down your stinking piehole.
And, rest. Great workout, boys and gals!