Gainzbit

and we rub bellies

and we rub bellies

The iconic @sfgutmuscle

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.