Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, June 04, 2004

Gym'll Fix It Indeed

Well. I've just seen my personal trainer - a feckless girl, all ponytails and smiles - and limped back to the office to surreptitiously get the new boy in accounts to rub my throbbing parts. His deft fingers on the Casio hand-crank are a joy to behold, and he's more than willing to offer such relief for little more than a cup of tea.

It's now been three months since evil gym nemesis Lady Marmalade threw me out of the other gym for 'renovations' - one hopes it was her orange frontage they're working on, as she did have a face like a robber's dog. And now I'm going to a proper gym, much to my chagrin. It's not half as enjoyable, so I do have to wonder why I put myself through this daily gymnasium torture. It's not because I enjoy gaping at the men getting changed (one of the numerous benefits we have up on the hetermosexleals in general) and nor is it so I can jog along to my fabulous favourite hits (hand gestures erring anywhere near 'disco' are very much frowned upon).

I think, when it's completely boiled down, the only genuine reason I do all this is that if I ever meet Alias beauty Bradley Cooper I'll be so toned and defined, he'll instantly drop whatever he's doing and raise his hand to hail The Other Bus so quickly, a sonic boom will occur.

Oh, and his ticket would get such a punching, let me tell you.

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