I’m half-Irish which means that certain character traits are mine to behold. I love bread and potatoes and consider any meal without them to be punishment. This means I can’t go on the Atkins Diet. I’m argumentative and always up for a fight if there’s one going. I’m also as stubborn as a mule. When I make my mind up on something there is nothing on the face of the planet that can get me to change my mind.
So imagine my surprise when I was flicking through the channels yesterday and happened upon an informercial for the Total Gym. Okay, that bit isn’t that surprising so far but bear with me. It was a typical informercial: look what you get! look what it can do! look how it increases your sexual attractiveness to women! look how it wins Nobel prizes for literature! Occasionally, I’ll watch one of these things from start to finish looking out for unintentional funnies but at no point ever have I felt any compulsion to pick up the phone.
But yesterday was different. You see, the Total Gym was being sold by Chuck Norris!
As I watched I became convinced that I wanted a Total Gym. As I’ve stated before I can’t go on the Atkins Diet. More importantly, I wouldn’t want to go on any diet. Cut down on food? But … food tastes nice. Why the hell would I want to cut down on it? Madness! Which leaves just cosmetic surgery, mind transfer to a better host, and exercise as my only solutions to the problem we call "Mr Stomach."
Have you ever seen liposuction being performed? I have. If you haven’t and have some idea that plastic surgeons perform microscopic miracles using high-tech surgical impliments, pristine gowns, nanobots, and machines that go bing! then prepare yourself for a shock.
The patient is rendered unconscious using whatever method is covered by your health insurance/national health service (lullabies, cosh, plastic bag, Nytol, whiskey, gas, or injection) and an incision is made on the side of the stomach. Into this cut a long-handled wallpaper scraper is inserted. Here is where the surgeon’s skill is really used: it’s important to scrape away at the fatty buildup inside the stomach and not scrape away at anything else such as an intestine, a colon, or a testical. The scraping is not a gentle action. Think about using a wirewool brush to remove baked beans left in a saucepan over a hot weekend and you’re halfway there. The loose blubber is then vacuumed out using a Dyson cyclone cleaner after which the vacuum is sold as a lava lamp.
Cosmetic surgery is not for me.
Mind Transfer is a far less potentially painful experience: strap down in the Transfer Chair, affix the Transfer Helmet, flick the Transfer Lever, and done.
On the face of it a perfect solution but there are some problems:
- I’ll need to get my passport photo done again and I abhor having my photograph taken,
- I know that there are men that like to touch other men’s bodies (with consent) out there and I’m perfectly happy for them to do so but, personally, it’s not my cup of tea. Technically, the new body would be mine but, psychologically, it would be the male supermodel’s that I’d kidnapped and I’m on the edge, psychologically-speaking, as it is,
- I like to fondle boobies and girls’ front bottoms but my other half doesn’t and she’d object in a lethal manner if I chose a woman’s body.
Exercise doesn’t appeal to me because it takes time, makes me tired, makes me sweaty, doesn’t produce an instant result, and often hurts.
That said, I have no objection in principle to a little "body sculpting" in the comfort of my own home. With the TV on. But a gym? Or jogging in public? Hahahaha … No! For your sake as much as my own.
So maybe that’s why the Total Gym was able to sneak past my informercial defences. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have a chance but … Chuck Norris! Chuck Norris! He has a beard! He’s starred in so many films that I’ve never watched it’s just unbelievable! Chuck Norris!
I actually got to the end of the informercial hoping that my other half would have something positive to say; something like "it would be nice to have a Total Gym as recommended by action hero Chuck Norris of our own, don’t you think?" or "I certainly wouldn’t mind one of those Total Gym-things that Chuck Norris says can replace a complete (or total) gym but which folds down easily and slips under the bed when not in use (if there weren’t thirty pairs of my shoes under there already) sweetheart."
But she looked at me and said "I know what you’re thinking and you’re not having one. You’ll use it twice and then never again. Now will you get this guff off the television."
In the light of day and with the passing of time away from Chuck Norris’ sales talk I feel less of a craving for a Total Gym but I’m now concerned that he has the power to compel me. If it weren’t for my other half I might have succumbed. Next time she may not be around.