My body's in recession!
I'm retracting! Constricting! Contracting! Restricting! Other combinations of syllables! Corstroncting!
This is farkin' serious I tells ye. I am the curious case of the incredible shrinking man. I must be growing retrogradely, reverse maturing, just breaking down and shrivelling up. I know that sounds silly and impossible, but I am the man that a put-upon Biology teacher once denounced in frustration as an "ingrowing shite". So you see, I've got form at this.
Do you know what's happening here? Wait until I tell you. I only went and bought a shirt the other day, picked up my usual large size, didn't even bother trying it on because I'm always a large, since forever started sort of thing, because I was about seven stone when I was born. Then when I got home I put it on to check how jaw-droppingly handsome I looked in it and what do you think happened? It was swimming on me, that's what! I had to go back and exchange it. This has never happened me before!
People, I'm shrinking. I'm...I'm a medium. I've gone through my entire wardrobe. It's full of stuff that's now too big for me. Thankfully, some large size stuff is smaller than other brands' large-sized stuff, so something survives to stave off nakedness. Anything over a 32 inch waist, however, is all for waste. Tighten me belt, there is a recession.
Here, do you think is this a medical condition? Might I be slowly boiling away like some sort of balsamic reduction? Puddling down and into myself like the Wicked Witch of the West until my stripy socks recoil and there is nothing left but my pointy hat? I'm just an accordion slowly gathering itself up. Where will it all end?
I fear, my friends, that I am now just a mere crisp packet left too near the fire, watch me bunch up like testicles in a cold shower and, eventually, disappear. The only comfort I have now is my willy, which is thankfully still so ardent and massive I could use it to batter 50 goats up a tricky mountain pass and down the other side.
I shall go now and find myself an average, banal, middle of the road woman, and as the perfect match, we will truly strike a happy medium. Together we will eat burgers and chips and never be small fry.
Relief as Stolen Religious Artefact Recovered
13 hours ago
14 moos and woofs:
Is that all your willy would do to those goats?
Hey quit yer whingeing. I'm trying my damndest to shrink. It's as hard as hopping up said mountain path! And at least your important bits are intact.
Fat cunt.
I hate you! Oooo, HATE YOU!!
Unless of course you tell me your secret....
*sigh*
I'm on a diet, can you tell?
So hungry.
Susan, it's some sort of unwritten law. If a woman works on losing weight, the man in her life will get slim....while she merely gets hungry. ;)
McDanger, as long as you're healthy and staying away from professional bone manipulators, I say good for you!
Hey Susan, pass me a chocolate chip cookie, would you? I don't drink. It's the best I've got.
You medium-sized mofo you! Look if you're going to waste away (and yet still be able to herd goats hands-free), then TELL US YOUR SECRET.
You'll have goats beyond your wildest dreams if you can bottle whatever the hell it is that's reducing your girth....
The opposite is happening me at the moment. I always been thin and now I'm putting it on. Maybe there's a connection.
Maxi, I have all the other Cavan sterotypes, not THAT one however.
To everyone else I think I've just been exacting too much retribution in the gym after my Christmas splurge. So I'm typing this from Cavan after ploughing my way through half a black forest gateaux. Pints of Guinness planned and a chinese on the way home, I'll be back toi myself before long.
Hope, we have a name for professional bone manipulators over here...um...ask Maxi!
Holemaster, I think you blogged that, I remember reading it. Listen, I'd be about 14.5 stone if I didn't go to the gym so much and if I wasn't such a Nazi about what I eat (well, most of the time).
maybe you have motor neurone disease and you're actually wasting away
Might I be slowly boiling away like some sort of balsamic reduction?
classic.
As all your gear has been made in China you must realise they get all the size labels wrong. Your XL shirt is actually XXXXXXL but they don't notice being wee folk.
Goat fucker.
This is a good complaint. A Terence McDanger Jus. Slowly boiling down to its bare elements. Bastard.
Kiki that's such a comforting thought. Thanks!
Cheers barman, I try to write at least one semi-deiverting sentence in every seven or eight posts, keeps the peeps happy.
Adullamite the only Chinese I ever buy is of the food variety, and after seven or eight pints of stout. At these times, there's no debate over sizes. "Larsh pleashe, exthra rishe. Twishe."
Maxi. I'm not a big goat fucker, I'm a big goat fucker's son, and I'm only fucking goats until...ach, never mind. Yer ma!
Leeroy, a bastard reduction? I can think of a few I'd boil up alright.
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