The long-anticipated Spring Break is upon us. The sun will be shining, the women will be flocking like the salmon of Capistrano, and you’ll probably be puking before breakfast. Sounds ideal, no? Not quite. Because you’re fat, remember?
In January, you had high hopes of tuning-up that soft-serve ice cream cone of a body but life got in the way: bad weather, Netflix, general low self-worth. Now as you look at yourself shirtless in the mirror on the eve of your tropical departure, all you see is regret and the half bag of Pizza Rolls you ate at 2 am last night that currently reside in your side-tit. I’ve been there. I’m still there. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. Quit deflecting, bro. I’m fucking workin’ on it.
Since I care for the well-being of our esteemed BroBible readers, I’ve devised a quick cheat sheet for all you bro and broettes who have been avoiding the gym like you’ve been avoiding the dude with a cold sore asking to borrow your chap stick.
All I ask in return is that you send us selfies of you and the guy/girl you pick up after putting these tips to use. Play up.
Get a Tan, Man.
There are five universal truths in this world: the Wi-Fi on the bus will not work, I’ll puke in a cab this weekend, I have trouble counting, and humans look better with a tan. We all wish we popped out of the womb with the skin color of Mario Lopez and if you did, you should stop reading this now and start training for that critical match against Valley. Go Bayside. But for the rest of us peasants who entered the world with the complexion of Carrot Top, I need to speak with you: ghost to ghost.
Confession: I overheard my high school girlfriend’s aunt say that I was “whiter than toilet paper” and I still think about it in the shower three times a week. 10 years later. But she was absolutely right. And I got confirmation of this as I was using toilet paper to wipe the semen off her precious niece’s back. Score settled, auntie.
You ever go to the gym and see that jacked transparent white guy strutting around the locker room? He’s got all the physical tools: washboard abs, isosceles triangle traps, grapefruit biceps. But something is undoubtedly missing, and it’s pigment. Then you see the dude with a comparable body who’s skin looks like Skippy’s creamy peanut butter. Whose leg are you going to touch in the steam room? Oh Neither? Ya, same. Ha. Ha…
Moving on.
Stand Up Straight
The idea is to stretch that doughy body of yours into a thin crust. Stand tall, shoulders back, distribute your gushiness. This will help to alleviate that belly hanging over your swimsuit, because your belly hanging lower than your testicles is never a good look.
Do you think Fat Joe would have made a song called “Lean Back” and changed the music industry forever because if he was cool with his body situation? Fuck no. But cutting corners is the only way you get ahead in life. Slouching adds 10 pounds and subtracts 10 conversations with the opposite sex. Is that what you want? Stephen Glansberg-in it at the club while your buddies speak gibberish to the females that you passed up on because you’re too busy being a hunchback in the corner?
And there’s a reason why your mother harped on you as a kid to stand up straight. She was obviously trying to get you laid, bro.
Stand Next to the (other) Fat Kid
Everything in life is relative. Didn’t get that work promotion? Go hang out with your burnout drug dealer who works at Arby’s and reeks of re-lit cigarettes and asks you for $5 to take the bus home. Then tell me you won’t feel better. Don’t think you’re funny? Watch a George Lopez stand-up set. Don’t think you can ball? Go to the local middle school during recess and play some pick-up. Almost a guaranteed double-double. Think you masterbate too much? Well set up a hidden camera in my bedroom. Or my living room. Or any place I’m at with walls and a roof. The lens will be covered within an hour. Please though, don’t do that, I’m into some questionable shit.
Point is, everything in our lives we compare to the people we surround ourselves with. It’s Darwinism (shout out to my 8th grade teacher, Mr. Porter, for supplying me with that panty-dropping science term). So if you’re out on the beach posing for a picture, or out at a bar trying to be seen, make sure you remember that it’s always better to be the best player on a shitty team than a bench warmer for a contender. Luke Walton has won two NBA championships to Karl Malone’s zero. If you’d choose Walton’s career over Malone’s, stop reading now and join ISIS or something.
So go out there and be a Karl Malone. Minus the impregnating a thirteen year old when he was 20. And the whole deadbeat dad part. And trying to fuck Kobe’s wife. Don’t try to be a Karl Malone. Sit in the corner and drink appletini’s like Walton would.
Panic Push-ups
Nothing erases two months of physical inactivity like, well, nothing erases two months of physical inactivity. But banging out a couple power sets of pushups in the bathroom before hitting the beach is like putting a band-aid on a wound from an assault rifle. But it’s better than just bleeding out. And we don’t want that, you’re supposed to be going to the beaches of Myrtle, not Normandy. It’s trying. And you owe that to yourself.
But be careful. Back in my prime, the panic pushup routine backfired when I walked out of the bathroom breathing heavy with beads of sweat trickling down my face. Rumors spread like wild fire within the house that I went in to the bathroom to jerk off. I told them they were completely wrong. I went into the bathroom to get big. Jerking off was just the reward for a job well done.
Think Thin
Mindset is essential. Confidence is contagious. Do you think Ron Jeremy got to be the most recognizable figure in porn by being a wallflower? The guy looks like a line cook at the my town’s House of Pizza, but he’s as cocksure as Papa John. And at the end of the day, isn’t self image all that matters? Not to be grim here but we all die alone, and when that day comes, I want to have convinced myself that I died sexy, even though I’ll most likely die in my motorized wheelchair after choking on a corn dog.
So you see that babe over there with the olive skin, supple breasts, and legs for days? Well back the fuck off, she’s mine. But you can have the girl next to her who looks like she could play linebacker in the SEC.
You don’t want to embarrass yourself anyway, fatty.