I was at the gym. I made the mistake of not paying attention and the Voat-FPH girl was suddenly there. She was wearing yoga pants with a thong underneath.
She achieved the greatest degree of gluteus-cheek separation that I have ever seen, with a hideous ass-flavored sweat stain.
She was doing good-mornings right in front of me, trying to get her 4$$ as close to my face as possible while I was lifting.
“What in the hell is wrong with you? Have you no sense of decency? Why are you working out here at the University gym? How did you get in here?” I asked.
She put the bar back on the rack and she tried to back her pungent 4$$-cracque directly into my face. I slapped her butt cheek as hard as I could with a resounding crack. Nobody heard it because everyone had their idiotic earbuds in, listening to god knows what.
The Voat girl shut her eyes and shuddered when I slapped her behind as if in a full-blown 0r945m.
“Oh my god, I Just got totally w3t when you spanked me, you fat Obeast, you Landwhale. I’m so hot now. I’m burning up. You know, I just told them I was Doktor Professore Botendaddy’s wife. And that Skinnyfat let me right in?”
I continued with my bench press routine, but the loss in strength was enormous. Didn’t she bathe? I asked myself.
“You profaned my lost love, my Annabel Lee to get into a gym? You sick, sick girl. Don’t you have any friends? Do you spend all your time on Voat?”
Between her smelly butt cracque, her rivers of malodorous sweat and her greasy, brown hair, it was somewhat foul.
“Botendaddy, I’ll admit you look pretty good, but I bet you are still skinny fat. You need to lose another 20 to look perfect. Every time I see you, I have an involuntary, spontaneous 0r945m. You Lardvaark, with your stupid fatlogic. Reee! Reee! If you can catch me, you can f&$k me, you fat slob. Look at me, my body is perfect! I am a noble sh1tlady you Beetus.”
I went to to military presses. Every time I sat down to rest she tried to shove her breasts in my face. I tried to explain it to her.
“Look, just because your body can lower your BMR by 300 calories when you lose 50 pounds, doesn’t mean anything. Of course when you are smaller, you don’t need as many calories, but look, use the MapMyRun app. Walk for 30 minutes a day and you will burn those exact same 300 calories, problem solved. But ask your registered dietitian of course.”
She moved on to squats. In between sets, she straddled me while I was lying on the bench. None of the earbud people even noticed as she rubbed her smelly, greasy, foul-smelling, wet, yeasty, zesty, tasty, camel-toe on me. I pushed her off.
“What about the hunger? What about the psychological starvation effect? You Landwhale. You Lardbeast.”
“I’ve seen some studies that say if you take a break from dieting, maybe cheat reasonably once a week or maybe every few months for a whole week, it can trick the body into slowing down the resistance to weight loss.”
She finished her squats, then she sat in my lap facing me. Her armpits were glistening, reeking.
“Listen, fatty, what about body fat ratio?”
“Good point. Two things. Don’t forget to eat protein. It suppresses appetite. Protein builds muscle. Weightlifting or other anaerobic resistance exercise builds muscle which burns calories at a steady rate. The more muscle, the more calories burned per day. By the way, when was the last time you bathed, seriously. Have you even brushed your teeth? When was the last time you washed those clothes? Are you diagnosed schizophrenic by any chance?”
She started doing incline sit-ups.
“Enough fat logic. And I’ll thank you to stay out of my fu&$ing psychiatric business. When we leave here, come to my condo, it’s walking distance. We will go together. I will fix you a drink, cause you fats love booze. Then we will strip. You will see my fantastic body, my six pack, my firm breasts. My incredible ass. You, being a fat blob, never being able to see a true sh1tlady hardbody, will then seize this rare opportunity and make love to me every way imaginable until I am totally contaminated with your slimy, fat reproductive fluids.”
“Please stop, you need help. It’s sad. I mean your somebody’s daughter for god’s sake.”
She started doing curls. As she lifted she stared straight ahead, now she was sweating uncontrollably.
“Shut up you *red-hot* old fatty. I am talking now, not you. I am 24 and I can make my own decisions. Here’s my decision. You will impregnate me, marry me and then I will taunt those needy, Beetus, Lardvaark whores in your writer’s workshop. They will see my huge, but taut pregnant belly filled with your fat walrus-baby. Oh the shame!”
I’m not sure how long she droned on, but I slipped out of the gym, snuck out the back door and into the night. I ducked into a late night diner. Was I alone?
Two strange figures came in and sat in my booth. It was Ramon and the Park Ranger!
“Botendaddy! We’ve been looking for you. We prefer you in full drag! *hot* Partial is so creepy! We were beginning to think you were avoiding us.”
Peace be the Botendaddy