It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Hell, it’s beginning to look exactly like Christmas and that means the same old fitness and health gurus (see: charlatans) trying to rack up that last 15 minutes of fame for the year by pushing out whatever book, made-up ancient quote or fad diet they’re promoting.
It’s simple, they say, “swap out the chocolate with unsweetened cacao, you won’t even notice the difference”. Yeah, if you’re mouth’s devoid of taste buds—which going on the popularity of things like kombucha is a growing biological concern. Are we evolving to exist as beings bereft of any semblance of enjoyment save for the aesthetic satisfaction of dropping a size or making our mates look fat by comparison? Nine out of 10 Jonos agree, that is the case. The 10th Jono refuses acknowledge evolution…
Fact is, unless your personal trainer or hot yoga teacher can prove otherwise, we only live once. John Lennon would be turning in his grave if he knew how callous modern first world civilization had become towards actual freedoms and means of personal enjoyment. So dire has our narcissistic obsession become with training for literally nothing except to look good—how many races you run this year?—that it’d deservedly spawn a follow-up hit to Lennon’s 1971 classic Imagine, were the Beatle not taken from us so soon.
Imagine there’s no Instagram
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to train or starve for
And no juice cleanses too
Imagine all the people living life in peace.
And size 40 jeans, but fuck it. That’s what Christmas is about. The fat cunt with the sack has been a leading example for generations but every year we get slimmer, train harder, spend more on Lululemon and enjoy less. But that’s what New Year’s resolutions are for, man.
This is Christmas, you’ve got to tolerate your family and stave off advances from your creepy cousin, Wade. You need food. You need booze. Hell, you deserve it.
So get on your arse, loosen the belt and get fat’n’fun with these five easy tips this Christmas.
Replace kettle balls with Kettle chips
What’s the point of having those lengthened, toned, strong and streamlined arms if they can’t effortlessly slither into a pack of Smith’s best? Otherwise, you’ve been training for absolutely nothing. Listen, every year is a marathon, and the Christmas holidays are the finish line. So fucking indulge already.
Log out of social media
How’s that gonna pile on the pounds, you say? Simple, if you can’t see the rest of the insecure, bikini-wearing, validation-seeking population, then you’ve got no one to compare yourself to and nothing to hate yourself for. That means no rules, bae-beeee! If an account disappears from Insta, would anybody like it? That doesn’t make sense. And neither does not helping yourself to thirds of aunty Pam’s pavlova.
Set yourself a calorie challenge
Bet you that you can’t hit 10,000 calories on Christmas day. Is that a challenge? You betcha. That’s how many calories actual endurance athletes eat per day when they’re traversing the globe by boat. You’ve spent 50 weeks training like one, so your body is probably begging for it. Again, like advice from your personal trainer or power meditation teacher, this argument is not based on fact or reason. Just thank us that it hasn’t cost you $90 for 40 minutes. And we won’t text you on Christmas day to check up that you’re only eating salad and the dry white meat that dad fucked by trying to cook twice as fast at double the heat.
Save a farmer, eat some sugar
Australia’s farmers are battling. Imports, dismal exports and the duopoly of Coles and Woolworths have screwed down the price of their sugar to cents on the dollar. And with artificial sweeteners, agave, and stevia dominating the market courtesy of the rig-conscious, things are not looking good for the backbone of Australia this Christmas. So if for nothing else, get fat out of compassion, patriotism and to gives Coles the forks—but not until you’re done with them… The forks that is.
Take solace in the fact that every box of Cadbury Favourites you eat to yourself will help put a present under the tree for a farmer’s daughter. And if she’s hot? Even better.
Absolutely no exercise
If it involves lifting anything heavier than a cricket bat, wearing shoes, and or can’t be enjoyed by at least two people simultaneously, it’s a firm no these holidays. Don’t care if you’ve convinced yourself that working out or running is “fun”. You need to find a dictionary STAT because you’re obviously confused by the meaning of fun. Here’s a tip: If faced with the choice between a day at Wet’n’Wild or a crossfit challenge, you choose the former. Yes, even you who says you’d still go the crossfit. You need to find a mirror and take a good look at yourself, because even a six-pack is empty inside eventually.
Editor’s note: This story’s author has recently been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes.