May 16, 2007
That Means F**k Off.
Being well chiselled and shapely specimens, The Girlfriend and I are often complimented by random strangers on the street, telling us how amazing we look.
“How amazing you both look” they will say in wonder, and then an awkward silence usually ensues, as they gaze at us expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Yes we know, you ugly piece of shit. Now leave us alone” we normally feel like saying, but usually reply with the standard, “It’s good genes. We’re very lucky”
In fact, this is not true. I do not have good genes. My father is a hunchback and my mother was born without arms and legs. And feet.*
No, we look this way through sheer dedication and hard work. You will often find us at a Virgin Active gym, sweating buckets and buckets of perspiration, which we then bottle and sell as a revitalising energy drink on Saturday mornings at the Neighbourhood Market in Woodstock.
Shaun: These Looks Don't Come Easy.
By the way, this is probably the longest introduction to an article I have ever written. “Get to the point,” I hear you shouting. Alright alright, calm down, have some sugar water.
The gist is that the other day The Girlfriend was full on harassed by a two burly gentlemen, who thought they could impress her with their massive biceps and feet. Unbeknownst to them, as The Girlfriend, she is quite used to seeing gigantic biceps and feet on a daily basis. (…I am of course referring to mine)
In the stretching area, the two Lotharios approached her, and began conversing innocuously enough, chatting about stretching and exercises.
Then the one piped up - “Hi, I think you’re really beautiful and I think you should give me your number”.
She looked at him blankly, the way she looked at me the night we met - before I managed to spike her drink - and said coldly, “No thanks, you could be criminals for all I know”
“Actually I am”, said the other, “I’ve just spent some time in jail for rape”.
That “joke” went over like a wet fart.
After another two minutes of putting up with their brand of poorly executed charm, The Girlfriend eventually pointed them in my direction, where I was busy benchpressing 1000kg (that’s how strong I am).
Feeling someone watching me, I looked up, saw the disapproving look in The Girlfriend’s eyes, and sprung into action. I flexed my right arm, causing a shift in the earth’s gravitational pull, thus sending the “rapist” flying into the treadmills, where he died of a heart attack because I set the speed at 95 km p/h.
I let his friend live, so he could run off and tell the world not to bother us when we’re gymming. If we want to make friends we’ll contact you through Facebook. Otherwise, kindly f**k off, we’re busy gymming. Leave us alone.
These Are Lies, Shaun’s Parents Are Normal.
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