The sweet taste of idiocy

My local gym has a multitude of TV screens scattered all over the place.  At face value you would think they’re for entertainment purposes, but it appears they’re just another way to push products down our throats between crappy music videos and advertising for tattoo removal and a boutique that will trim your minge.

They make me angry (commercials, not minges), which actually fuels my workout, so no complaints there.

Anyway, this morning one of the screens had something I just had to write about.  The screen read:

‘Latest news: Studies have shown that Americans consume too much sugar, a majority of which is found in sugary drinks.’

 

I literally stopped working out, mid set, mouth agape.  Was I really seeing this?  Is this really latest news?

Mind you, I was drinking Coke Zero at a party recently and a friend of mine asked what it was.

I took a moment to compose myself and told him that it was sugar free (and full of chemicals that will probably give you cancer, but hey….thin is good, right?) and has no calories.  He couldn’t believe it.  He had a sip and said “where has this been all my life!?”.

On a shelf in the supermarket mate, next to the full fat shit that you and everyone else buys.

(Don’t even get me started on the elusive nature of diet drinks in the US.  That’s a post for another time).

Anyway, the ‘Latest News‘ continued:

‘Some experts have said that too much sugar can lead to cases of obesity and diabetes”

 

Can lead?  CAN lead??  WILL lead, you fat twats!  And how come it’s ‘some‘ experts saying this?  What about the other experts who think sugar is OK?

But who am I to judge?  Maybe these experts are right and sugar ISN’T responsible for America having the largest (pun intended) population of obese people in the world and the highest cases of diabetes.

fat-runs

Chances are president Obama is to blame, or Al-Queda; they seem to be the scapegoats of choice nowadays.

Ooh, political!

Before this gets all serious and preachy, here’s a palette cleanser.

A car in front of me on the freeway this morning had ‘We are currently hiring excellent drivers‘ advertised across the back of it, just as it drifted across three lanes and left the freeway without indicating.

Ah, Americans.  I seriously fucking love ’em!

Irony is wasted on the clueless.

I’ve just seen a woman, easily over 300 pounds in weight, wearing a t-shirt that read:

Work Hard

Train Hard

Live Hard

More like “Eat Hard”.

And then eventually “Die Hard”.

Then again, replacing the ‘H’ with an ‘L’ would’ve worked too.

Isn’t it a bit contradictory to produce that article of clothing in any size larger than, well, Large?

Unless of course its purpose is to inspire people to get fitter and lose weight.

She was sat outside a ‘Red Robin’ burger joint waiting to go in.

What do you think?

The breakfast contradiction

Today is my wife’s birthday so – in the face of all the visits to the gym over the last month – we decided to treat ourselves to breakfast at IHOP.

For those who don’t know IHOP, it’s an acronym for ‘International House Of Pancakes’.

It’s not international.

Anyway, on my way to the toilet I passed a woman sat having breakfast with her family.

She was huge. I mean BIG!

This isn’t unusual in this fine country, but I have to say that her ‘Planet Fitness’ T-shirt was a bit of a stretch (or a lot of a stretch if you know what I mean).

Fitness indeed.

“Fitness whole stack of pancakes in my mouth” more like.

Gymnauseum

It’s been a little over two weeks since the move to Las Vegas from sunny (ha!) Crawley in the UK.  In that time I have compiled notes on a million[1] things I want to write about but I have to resist otherwise i’ll be posting two or three times a day, and that’s a bit too much to deal with; like the Kardashians.

As an update on the important things over here, I secured a job on Tuesday[2] with a small, unassuming multi-million dollar company[3] AND obtained my full 8 year driving licence [license].  I may write separate posts about those, but for now I use those memories to aid in masturbation.

On this post I want to share my observations of the gym here in Las Vegas.

I’ve been to gyms all across the country in the UK and now that i’ve moved to the USA I’ve noticed a difference in the calibre [caliber] of people that go.

In the UK the average person in the gym looks a little something like this:

average man ukwoman workout ukman weights uk

woman weights uk

Which is fair enough, right?

But in the USA, they’re like this:

Sm bodybuildKatrinka Danielson - fit

us rippedJessie Hilgenberg - fit

Or this.

grandma gymweightlifting

Seriously this is a thing here.

It all makes me feel a bit….

how i feel

 

[1] Not literally.  Maybe six; possibly five.

[2] Today is Thursday, not that you care.

[3] Woo hoo!!  Yeah!! (does a little dance)

United Steaks of Hamerica

I’ve been in the U S of A almost 5 days, and already I have SO many notes compiled on things that I’d love to blog about.

That said, I don’t want to blow my load on one post, so I’ve decided to drip feed them in an attempt to look like I’ve thought long and hard about each and every post.

I probably haven’t, just so you know.

Today’s entry is food related.

Last night my wife and I went to a restaurant called Brio in Tivoli Village. Great restaurant with the usual oversize portions and suspiciously joyful staff.

When the waitress (I don’t like the word ‘server’ [1]) took my order, she said “super salad?”

“What?”
“Super salad?”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Super?”
“Is what ‘super’?”

“The salad?”

There was a pause….

My wife tapped me on the arm and said “Soup or salad”

Yeah, that made more sense.

It seems that choice with your meal is a big thing in the United States.  If you want eggs, you can have them sunny side up [2], over easy, scrambled, boiled, poached or the waiter can bring the chicken out and you can suck the egg directly from its arse.

If you want chips (fries) you can have them regular, curly or seasoned.  Alternatively you can have them boiled, baked or mashed; not to mention the option of hash browns, wedges or having them peeled and inserted rectally to save yourself the calories.

And if you’re having breakfast you can have pancakes, waffles, French toast, English muffins and all sorts of artery clogging carbohydrates….with or without cinnamon frosting or powdered sugar.

Oh, and by the way America,  French Toast isn’t French; nor are English muffins English.  Both are American.

Crepes are French, but oddly you don’t call those French pancakes.

Also, smothering anything with Marinara sauce does not make it Italian.

But I digress.

Going back to the subject of choice when dining, you also get free refills on a lot of things.  Having visited America a lot in the past I am fully aware that you get free refills on coffee and soda (yes, I use the word ‘soda’ now)…but imagine my disappointment when I once declined another bowl of delicious soup at Olive garden only to find out afterwards that it was, in fact, a free refill.

On soup!

This morning I saw an advert on TV (amongst the many, many, many, MANY adverts) for a restaurant called Applebee’s in which they offer free refills on fries.

FRIES!

But, to be fair, you only got these free refills on fries when you order one of their massive, supersized, over the top burgers that includes meat from every species known to man, topped with 8 cheeses and sugar, or something.

It’s like the Heart Attack Grill found on Fremont Street who give free meals to anyone weighing over 350 pounds.  This is a place where they have a burger called the Quadruple Bypass which totals 10,000 calories.

My wife told me that a guy once had a heart attack in the Heart Attack Grill on Fremont Street and, considering the ‘servers’ are dressed like doctors and nurses, all the other diners though it was some kind of show.

Well, it’s Vegas after all.

But going back to Olive Garden for a second, they offer a “Buy one, Take one” deal on entrees [3].  You order your main meal and they give you another one free.

Seems normal, right?

Well, this second dish isn’t for your dining partner; it’s for you to take home to presumably eat naked and alone in the dark, sobbing with shame.

Lunacy.

But it’s not all bad, they have twist off bottle caps on their beers.  That’s something they’re getting right.

Oh, and they have Spinach and Artichoke dip.

That’s a thing here.

It needs to be a thing everywhere.

Now.

fat uncle sam

[1] Although people in I.T. swear by them 😉
[2] Also known as ‘half cooked, slightly raw and snotty’

[3] Main course

Fitness this pizza in my mouth

A couple of days ago my wife and I decided to go into town to shop for shoes.  Well, my wife wanted to go into town for shoes and I was driving…so….

Anyway, at one point I saw a woman who was either:

A) fat
B) pregnant

I could only assume she was fat because, well, she was the ugliest thing I’d seen since Gremlins.

Seriously, parents were pulling their children away from her.

Either way, I don’t think she saw the irony in being fully kitted out in Adidas sportswear.

image

Weight train

Breathe in…
“Hwrrrr!”
Breathe in…
-groan-
Breathe in…
“Mmm…”
Breathe in…
“Prprprprrrr”
Breathe in…
“Ooh, parrr….”
Breathe in…
“Psshheeeww”
Breathe in…
“Shhhhhhh”
Breathe in…
-massive vocal yawn
Breathe in…
-pig snort noises
Breathe in…
-blows raspberries
Breathe in… !! Cough !!   “Hwaraaaagh!!!!”  

Pause…  

Breathe in… “MmmmMMMmmm”  

And repeat…  

These are the noises coming out of the mouth of the bouncy castle sized man sat across the aisle from me on the train.  

I could be wrong; it could be his blowhole.

image

Fed Zeppelin

The supermarket last night was manic, with last minute Christmas shoppers packing their trollies tight like a hungry alcoholic competition winner on a supermarket dash.

I was regrettably in there because we had run out of alcohol in the house and that’s a sin at any time of the year, let alone Christmas.

After negotiating the badly driven trollies and turkey laden imbeciles with no sense of direction or intelligence, I loaded up my trolley and slalomed my way through the festive fuckwits to the checkouts.

After queuing for an eternity behind knuckle draggers and bickering couples, I finally reached the checkout.  I began loading my meagre purchases onto the belt and awaited my “sorry to keep you waiting, would you like some bags?” from the friendly checkout girl.

No, its OK, I’ll just kick my stuff all the way to the car.

Probably not the best approach as these guys were swamped with Chrismassy cretins and their sanity was hanging by a thread.

As I was stood there being thankful that ASDA didn’t sell firearms, I couldn’t help but watch the two women behind me unloading their shopping onto the belt behind mine (and yes, this time there was a divider). They were both rather large ladies, one considerably larger than the other. A lot larger.

I shall call her Zeppelina.

They were placing item after item after item after item onto the checkout which had started creaking under the weight, and I began to wonder if this was their Christmas shop or ‘just the weekly’.

Anyway, after about 5 minutes Zeppelina pulled out an empty chocolate wrapper from their trolley and gave her friend a smile that said, ‘oops, what am I like?’.

A pig?

Zeppelina used this moment to take a breather from the exhaustive nature of what she was doing (as some of those cakes looked quite heavy), and once she’d caught her breath and stopped wheezing she handed the wrapper to her friend and said, “we’ll need to explain that”.

No she won’t.

image

All aboard….chew chew!

A large woman has just sat down next to me on the train.

Well I say ‘next to me’, but it’s more like ‘next to me and a little bit on me too’

Anyway, she’s whipped out a note book and opened it, revealing a food diary.

I’m always proud of people making the effort to lose weight.  Over the last 2 or 3 years I’ve lost 5 stone (70 pounds) in weight and it’s been both a physical and mental struggle.  Those who know me have seen my transformation and I have always appreciated the kind words and encouragement.  It takes a lot to make the active decision to change your life and say “enough is enough”. 

So good for her.

As she fumbles for a pen in her bag I glance over and see the words ‘hot dog fingers with ketchup’ and ‘pack of sausage rolls’ amongst many others.

Fat cow.

image

Chew chew train 2

Some people have an inability to eat quietly.

I’m not an eating Hitler, but when you can hear the man open mouth chewing his apple from 3 seats away on a moving train…it does make you want to shove the fruit up his arse.

Or down the throat of the fat bloke who just won’t stop coughing loudly and with big heavy wheezes.

I’m loving my snooze on this train this morning, I really am.

image

P’ass’

Tonight at Victoria train station there was the usual rush to be the first at the platform 100 metres away despite the trains not actually leaving for another 8-10 minutes.

As usual there were all sorts of ‘people’ (I use the term loosely) moving at different speeds and, oddly, in different directions towards the same platforms.

I’m 6ft tall and have a pretty hefty pace going on, but I could feel the presence of someone desperately trying to overtake me. I say I could ‘feel’ the presence but in actual fact I could blatantly see her from the corner of my eye as she took up more room in my peripheral vision than was necessary.

This woman was big. I mean BIG.

I’m not racist and therefore I’m going to be sensitive in describing her without causing offence.  In an attempt to be ambiguous and vague I’m going to refer to her as Shaniqua.

She was puffing along on my left and, not wanting to be a hypocrite by becoming one of these people…

http://headinablender.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/to-pass-or-not-to-pass/

…I moved slightly to the right allowing her to pass.

She bumped into me, possibly to indicate she was in a hurry and I was in her way, but probably because I could’ve moved 8 metres to my right and she still would’ve collided with me due to lack of space.

She was a big girl.

Once she’d barged me she muttered something like, “fucking come on!” and starting jogging slightly.

Well, I SAY jogging….

Picture this, she was a BIG girl and was wearing a very SMALL tight white dress with a VERY visible white thong underneath.

I know that thongs visible above jeans are sometimes affectionately referred to as a ‘whale tail’, but this one was to scale.

1:1

And it was screaming for help.

So when I say jog, take a moment to think about that.

Got it?

Ok… I’ll carry on.

Her ‘jog’ lasted about 2.5 seconds (which coincidentally was about the same distance in metres) before she went back to a walking pace; a pace that was 95% slower than mine.

I passed her again in about 4 seconds. I had to walk an extra 12 metres around her to do it, but in no time I was ahead of her again.

Bummer.

image

I can’t brielieve it

During my visit to America I was introduced to a food that I didn’t realise existed.

Just when I thought the United States couldn’t produce anything more ridiculously calorific I was introduced to…..

‘Cheese On A Stick’

I’m serious. Cheese….on a stick.

Cheese….on a fucking STICK!

There are lots of foods that work well on a stick such as kebabs, ice lollies, marshmallows etc., but not cheese; unless it’s accompanied by a chunk of pineapple and poking out of a potato covered in foil at a 1980s buffet.

But did it stop there? No. The Americans decided that ‘cheese on a stick’ should be dipped in batter and deep fried.

Are you shitting me?

Someone should warn these people before they get fat.

Interestingly, as we walked out of the food court (and I use the word ‘food’ loosely), I saw a very overweight couple stood at ‘The Cajun Grill’ ordering, well, everything it seemed.

The young guy behind the counter should’ve refused them service and said “No! Baaaad fatties!” and sprayed them with water.

That would’ve confused them because no-one in the U.S. food industry uses the word “No” and fatties don’t recognise water.

cheeseonastick

Pardon? Speak up….

As I settle down in my train seat, ready for the five and a half hour journey from Penzance to London, imagine my joy when a chavvy couple with the loudest and whiniest kids in the world sit 3 rows in front of me.

I’m such a fucking lucky bastard, I really am.

He resembles a shaved rat in a bomber jacket and baseball cap, complete with a neck tattoo and an eyebrow piercing. A gold ring of course.

She has lank, greasy hair pulled back so tight she looks like she’s suddenly sat on a upturned plug…all the time.  Her clothing is way too tight for her ‘size’ which means her leggings elastic and struggling bra strap leave her resembling 3 bagels stacked on top of each other…. or are they ring doughnuts?

Probably doughnuts.

And what’s with the decibel levels here? Do they live next to a runway? Are they used to communicating through glass? The kids are very loud (and did I mention whiny?),the dad (debatable) is loud, but the mum…well, she’s talking to ratman at the same volume we reserve for nightclubs, complete with the occasional spit missiles associated with talking at such force.  The windows are actually shaking and I swear I just spotted a crack appear.

The old couple next to me have turned their hearing aids OFF.

I’ve tried to drown them out with my headphones, but they keep slipping out of my bleeding ears.

Fat headed statement

Sorry, just heard the dumbest comment from a girl on the train talking to her boyfriend about a diet she’s going to go on in which you eat a lot of fat.

Him – “you eat a lot of fat?”
Her – “yeah, apparently it’s really good for you because if you eat a lot of fat your body won’t start eating away at your own fat”.

Oh my good god. What a total twat.

Had to share.

Cod piece

You know those sort of smells that are both delicious and disgusting, depending on context?

Allow me to give an example.

I love the smell of fish and chips. It brings back so many fond memories and I can’t get enough of it.

And then there’s the open legs of the grossly overweight and sweaty man sat opposite me on the train….

Same smell.

The Turdminator

I’m sat on the train late at night and a guy has just got on and parked himself next to me.

He’s not a small guy.  In fact, I’m now getting very intimate with the window as I’m pushed up against it.

But the weird thing about Shrek here is the way he’s breathing.  Every breath has that strain like he’s bending out a fresh biscuit in his shorts.  His massive, massive shorts.

Any minute now I’m expecting him to shout “finished!” followed by that warm pungent odour of fresh man manure.  And I think to myself, whilst wedged up against the upholstery, that by the looks of him it won’t be a small chipolata affair.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not mocking obesity as I myself was a lot larger up until about a year ago, but logic tells me that the more food he puts in, the more poo he’ll put out.  Fact.

So what if he really is squeezing one out?  What if my suspicions are correct?  Then what?

Shit.