Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Reasons why I hate my dad...

As I come upstairs after watching TV and feeling like death, my dad starts talking to me.
"You know, once we get you better, we'll start your training," he says.
No thanks, Dad.
"We'll start you on some arm strength and endurance."
"Um... I'll pass."
"Oh come on, we could see during the play you were dragging on one of those numbers."

Yes. Thanks for pointing out the fact that I'm fucking out of shape and fat, like you do nearly every week to try and make yourself feel better about being fatter every day because you binge like a fat fuck.
I saw the massive handful of pretzels you got after your "healthy" dinner (because raw bloody meat is SO FUCKING HEALTHY). I know for a fact that that handful totals at least 200 if not 300 calories, calories that will be converted to fat as soon as you sit down and start playing your online poker again.
So fuck you sir. My progress will not be hindered by your comments any longer.

Because even though you may be able to run longer than I, or swim faster than I, or bike longer than I, I am still thinner than you, at the very least.

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