I’m sure that everyone reading this has got mates who verge on the annoying. Perhaps they’re downright infuriating, one or two might even be truly loathsome? I’ve got a mate, Fat Jim, who I’d define, at best, as being a little smug. He’s currently ‘between jobs’, though in truth it’d be easier to describe his ever decreasing stints in gainful employment as ‘between dole queues’. This however doesn’t stop him imparting advice that is mostly unwelcome, but above of all, is complete and utter bollocks.
We were in the pub discussing life, love, and the universe, as you do, when Mike, a mate who’s currently training for the London Marathon began to tell us a little about his training regime. This involved early morning runs, a strict diet (that I’m sure didn’t include the pint of lager in front of him), and a level of dedication to getting fit that he’s never exhibited in his job.
This however didn’t impress Fat John, who decided to impart one of his golden nuggets,
“You do realise that good health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die,”
“Yeah Jim, and being a fat bastard is a sure fire way to a miserable, wheezing, stinking – yes Jim, you do stink – end.”
“All I’m saying Angry is that you health freaks are going to feel pretttty stupid one day, lying in hospital dying of nothing”
“Maybe so Fat Jim, but, fingers crossed I’ll be 110 years old with my 25 year old wife by my bedside. Not like yourself, at 45, probably bed ridden and needing a nurse to wipe my own arse”
“Well Angry, I love me, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a euphemism for your wanking habits Fat Jim, but we’ll leave it there I think.”
The moral of the story? Noone likes a smug fat bastard.
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