Fat Bottomed Boys

I don’t think it’s fair that guys get to go to college, gain 40 pounds, and call it “Broin’ Out,” but if I happen to make friends with the Subway guy and he knows my meatball sub order backward and forward, having a little extra junk in my trunk is the worst thing I could do. The pool in my apartment complex opens in a couple of weeks, and I’ve been prepping for that day since November. Yes, November. You know what that’s called, boys? Maintaining the magic. Remember a few years ago when you were all strutting around with your ripped arms and sick abs and girls thought you were hot? Well after three years of beer, Qdoba, and Call of Duty, your stomach is one big pillow of shame and the only “hot” thing I can think of is the oven I’d rather stick my head into than be forced to look at your shirtless sack of embarrassment and defeat. You know what’s a lot of fun? Not hooking up with someone who’s spent the winter months harvesting a layer of flubber, that’s for sure. Listen baby beluga, I understand that you’re not the star of your high school football team anymore and the club lacrosse team is “full of a bunch of fags who can’t play,” but I also know that I run the risk of becoming a Butterbody and do everything in my power to avoid such a catastrophe. I expect you to do the same. Spending an hour powerlifting in the gym one day a week – sounding like you’re blowing your load and dying simultaneously – is not going to get the job done.

You’ve got a girlfriend? Not for long, Jack Black. Nice job sealing the deal when you still looked like Gerard Butler circa 300, but if you’re grabbing ass as she’s grabbing love handle, girl’s not gonna be around much longer. You see, while you’ve been perfecting the dent in your couch cushion, some of your fellow males have been quietly keeping themselves in line and emerging as Surprise Studs. I’m sure your personality has maintained all of its humor and chillness over the past few years, but college is absolutely a beauty contest, and a competition between his biceps and your razor sharp wit is really no competition at all.

Honestly, I’m sorry that you lost your sex appeal. I’m sorry that countless cases of Bud Light and bottomless Saver Sacks have brought you to this truly unattractive and unfortunate place in your life. I’m REALLY sorry that you fail to see the problem with any of this, because come pool time I know your pale manboobs are going to accost my eyesight and I’ll be scarred for life.

Hopefully I’ll see you on a P90X commercial in the near future…or, more realistically, The Biggest Loser. A title you so thoroughly deserve.