Accidental Gains

Maybe the vet can give some advice too on how you can solve your obesity, you greedy piggy. Getting bigger by the day!

Drinking again, tubbs? Those tight swimming trunks say it all. They make his flabby paunch droop over the waistband and they have the colours of the American flag, the fat-centred country of the world. That's not even a bulk anymore, big boy, that's called 'getting fat' instead.

Look how much fat you can grab on that chubby gut of yours, fatty. And then you dare to say it's not round enough yet? Those fat rolls say it all though. You're not that skinny twink anymore, but you didn't lose your love for some good selfies though.

Yeah, but I don't think that only your pants are getting tighter, chubbs. That gut seems to get tighter too as it gets rounder by the day. It's funny you're still wearing a belt, by the way, since you obviously don't need it at all anymore. And once again you're in the fitting room to buy some new bigger clothes. No wonder you're looking so sad, since your cravings and the need to shop for bigger clothes every week make you go broke rapidly. Luckily you won't get broke of pudge soon, so you have some reserves when you don't have enough money to buy food anymore. Maybe you can finally become the skinny twink you once were again then, fatty.

Oh, yeah, bro, you're so fucking skinny, probably underweight! Are that your ribs hanging over your tight slip there? Oh, no, my fault... That are... FAT ROLLS! You're not skinny at all anymore, fatty. You're an overweight chunker now, eating everything in sight. Your BMI is going trough the roof recently, chubbs.

The 'girlfriend effect' isn't a biological phenomenon, you pathetic excuse for an athlete, it’s just the sound of your discipline evaporating the moment you found someone willing to tolerate your mediocrity. You didn't just let yourself go, you collapsed. You went from having a core of steel to a core of soft-serve, and now your chest looks like a pair of sourdough loaves fighting for space under a cheap t-shirt, fatso. Calling it the 'girlfriend effect' is the most cowardly way of saying: 'I have the willpower of a toddler in a candy store and no longer have the discipline to lift anything heavier than a fork.' You’re not a former athlete, you’re a cautionary tale in a gym-shark shirt that's screaming for mercy across your stomach. Those aren't moobs, chubbs, they're emotional support pillows for the ego you lost along with your abs. You didn't get comfortable in the relationship, you just became a human beanbag. The only thing 'ripped' about you now is the seam on your favorite pair of jeans, pudgemaster.

'Wear you life jacket' is written on the boat. Well, I don't think this tubster really needs to wear a life jacket though, since he's growing some swimming aids himself recently. What he will need is a bra though, 'cause his fat moobs are getting out of control.

I know wearing tanktops makes you feel big and hot, big boy, but I think 'big' got a different meaning after you started bulking a year ago. I don't think it was a good idea to keep bulking and don't renew your gym membership at the same time. It seems like your muscles got buried beneath an enormous layer of pudge, fatso. Time to grab the dumbells again instead of the donuts, 'cause you're looking like a bag of very soft and squishy dough yourself now. Gravity is biggest your enemy recently and the treadmill seems the only thing that can still help you, if you don't give up like you did before though, you fat fuck. And please, ditch the tanktops. They're really doing you dirty, you greedy piggy.

Oh, I get why you're looking so awkard, chubbs. It is quite embarrassing to get arrested by a police officer, while your round fat tummy is bulging out of your far too tight shirt. What's the reason you got arrested in the first place, fatty? Is it maybe because you're disturbing the peace with that hideous fat body of yours? Or did you steal food again because you were starving, even though you'd just eaten, you fatso? Either way, I hope they have a gym in prison, 'cause you can obviously use some cardio to get rid of that round gut.

Look at you, fatso. You’re not a pitcher, you’re a structural hazard. You picked the only position in professional sports where you can stand still for three hours and still be considered ‘active’, and yet you’re still the slowest thing on the field. Those straining buttons on your jersey aren't fasteners anymore, they’re load-bearing cables. Every time you wind up for a pitch, the entire dugout holds its breath, not for the strike, but because they’re terrified a button is going to snap off at Mach 1 and take out a spectator in the front row. You’re one deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction that would require a hazardous materials team to clean up, big boy. You’re playing in Miami, the global capital of fitness, sunshine and metabolism, and you’ve managed to defy the laws of physics by getting even fatter in a city that lives on fish and salads. Your body isn't 'bulking', it's an expanding empire of bad decisions. You don't have a 'core', you have a planetary orbit. The only reason you’re still on the roster is because the team realized they don't need to buy a ball rack as long as they have you to lean the equipment against. You aren't pitching heat, you're just sweating out the three deep-dish pizzas you had for breakfast, you fat slob.

It’s a fascinating transformation. He went from guarding a goal to becoming the goal. He spent years training his body to keep things out of the net, and the second he got a job pouring pints, he decided to become the net himself. He didn’t just leave the sport, he absorbed the entire ecosystem of the pub. You can actually track the decay in the photos, it’s like a time-lapse of a melting candle. He used to be a ‘lean little keeper’, but now the only thing he’s keeping is a surplus of saturated fats. He traded a pair of goalie gloves for a bottle opener and his center of gravity shifted so far forward he probably needs a spotter just to tie his shoes. Looking at those vacation pics, it’s clear he’s no longer playing defense, he’s surrendered completely. He didn't just 'soften' at the waist, he evolved into a human beach ball. He’s not a bartender, he’s a walking advertisement for liver failure and a cautionary tale about what happens when you stop running and start sampling the inventory. The only thing 'sharp' about him now is the angle of the slope on his stomach. He went from being the last line of defense to being the first person in line for a bypass.

I honestly can’t tell if you’ve actually expanded or if you’re just wearing a giant, flesh-colored beanbag chair. Seriously, man, what happened? The last time I saw you, you had a jawline, now you’ve got a series of concentric chin-folds that look like a ripple effect in a pond of lard. And what is happening with your chest? I can’t tell where your pecs ended and your breasts began. You’ve gone from 'fit' to 'fruitcake' in record time. You don't even have a stomach anymore, you have a soft-serve machine of a gut that looks like it’s trying to escape your shirt. Every time you breathe, your buttons are screaming for mercy. I can actually hear the fabric of your clothes begging for a divorce. Do you even remember what it’s like to see your own feet without using a series of mirrors? Or do you just accept that your torso is now a planetary body with its own gravitational pull? You didn't just let yourself go, you threw yourself off a cliff into a deep fryer. You’ve transitioned from 'skinny-fit' to 'human marshmallow' so efficiently that I’m actually impressed. It takes a special kind of dedication to completely erase every single angle of your body and replace them all with circles. Honestly, looking at you is like watching a time-lapse video of a balloon inflating until it’s about to pop. Please, for the love of God, stop talking, the way your cheeks wobble when you speak is genuinely hypnotic in the worst way possible. Go find a salad, or at least some underwear that doesn't look like it's fighting for its life.

Daddy's lil monster to daddy's lil piggy