¤ AccuWhatTheFuck¤ Update!!
The Bi-Polish Vortex Continues On Its Merry Way Through The Tri-State Region.
At the Moment we are Smack Dab in the Middle of a Seasonal Weather System that Meteorologists like to call “The Cryosphere”,
Meaning that it is Colder Than A Witch’s Tit and Prone to Spontaneously Producing Glaciers, Ice shelves, Icebergs, and Douchebags.
ANOTHER SEVEN INCHES of SNON on the Ground and I’m Skipping the Gym today because The Roads are a Sheet of Ice.
Face It Folks, Another Ice Age Is Upon Us!
(At least *My Body* evidently thinks so.)
Our Bodies believe that Any Day Now, we’ll have Another Ice Age and there won’t be Any More Food, so they Need to Store up Lots of Fat.
So while our Brains are in the 21st Century, forcing us to eat Salads,
Our Bodies are Back in Prehistoric Times, thinking:
“I made Six Ounces of Fat today! Bring on the Glaciers!”
If only we could explain to our Bodies that Times have Changed & they no longer need to make so much Fat.
Of course, I refuse to get on a Scale unless Forced to Do So at Gunpoint.
Why, you may ask?
But I’ll tell you anyway.
I’m Allergic to Scales.
The Type that Guess your Weight.
They make me Break Out in Low Self-Esteem.
The last time I got on a Digital Scale was when they did the Mandatory “Wellness” Thing at Work in September.
Yes: My Biometric Screening!
Which of course meant Blood Tests, Blood Pressure, BMI Analysis, and the Utterly Horrific “Getting On The Scale For the First Time in a Year”.
Okay so I *did* tell the Screening Broad that I have at least Five Pounds of Product in My Hair and to take that into account…
Plus Gravity has gotten Stronger due to the Space Dust Thing…
But she made me get on the Digital Scale anyway.
First, the Scale said “Yo! Two of Y’all Are Gonna Have To Get Off!”
Then, when it finally registered,
It read “Volkswagen”.
Gravity Is Not My Friend.
So Evidently I’m the Perfect Weight for My Height, Bone Structure, BMI, and Age.
*If* I Were a 1964 Volkswagen Mini-Bus.
Bring On The Ice Age!
::Please Make A Note Of It::