The Atheist Training Bible for Old Bicycle Racers, Chapter 15: Endeavor to persevere
December 26, 2015 § 20 Comments
Starting tomorrow or the day after we’re going to be awash in resolutions for 2016, but in reality every cyclist has one and one resolution only, and it’s this: “Stop eating during the holidays.”
This is impossible, and the intensity of the desire to stop eating is perfectly balanced with the insane quantity and quality of lip-smacking yummies at every turn. How about the bastard who gave me TWO pecan pies, one for my birthday and one for fucking Christmas?
FUCK YOU, Smasher, you fucking fucker.
What about the “friend” who gave me a “Merry Birthmas” packet of homemade chocolate smunchers with nuts and sugar and butter and chocolate and powdered yumminess?
FUCK YOU, fake friend!
What about the wife who bought my son a fucking Baskin-Robbins Giant-Sized Oreo Ice Cream Cake, served it on Thursday, and then on Friday dragged out a 10-lb. chocolate-and-strawberry birthday cake flanked with cream, sugar, frosting, and a giant chocolate placard that read “Happy Birthday, I love you”?
FUCK YOU, treasonous and perfidious wife!
That doesn’t even begin to count the “invitations” to parties loaded with cookies and goodies and cake (you bastards know who you are), the boxes of chocolates and goodies from the Big Island Gout Factory, and the sorry dungheads at Quill Office Products who sent a fucking can of Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies along with an order for ink toner.
I’VE RUN OUT OF FUCKS! I’VE RUN OUT OF FUCKS!
So bottom line is you’re already deep in a calorie hole that a Caterpillar couldn’t dig out of, and you barely have a garden trowel. So all you can do is try to slow down the giant vacuuming sound your mouth makes every time someone drops off a new load of diet-destroying sugary goodies, destined to make you happy and miserable all at the same time, with the misery attaching mostly to your tummy and butt and thighs and hanging around waaaaaay longer than the happy, which really only lingered on your tongue for a few seconds anyway.
Here, then, are your pre-New Year’s Resolutions, designed to get you safely through to Jan. 1, 2016.
- When someone offers you something to eat, snarl and say “FUCK YOU!” Bite their hand if you have to.
- Throw away all the food in the house. Now. All of it. Don’t worry, by 9:00 PM tonight there will be a whole new pile.
- Pour out all the booze. And milk. Pour out everything except what’s in the faucet.
- Open your “cycling energy” drawer and toss everything in a wrapper or bottle, except the Percocet.
- Decline all invitations, go nowhere.
- Don’t let anyone come in.
- Pull the covers up over your head.
And remember, after Jan. 1, you’re on your own.
END
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Cycling in the South Bay 
Only thing that kills your fitness worse at your age than not riding for 5 weeks is eating! I’m hoping fat and slow is the new cool in 2016.
Fat and slow is always cool. It’s just not fast. Anyway, send me one of the new F&S kits with recumbent discount coupon.
Dear New Readers (if you get this far):
In spite of the tenor of this piece, and indeed, his soi-disant moniker, we know the author (who may wish to keep his real name something of a secret with any new discoverers, at least for the time being) to be, basically, a decent and caring person– devoted parent, professional, husband; a man of some courage who gives free rein to his passions in his writing and who, as far as is known (in adult life), has never actually bitten anyone on the hand, or anyplace else, either.
Thank you for your understanding.
This is indeed a terrible, stressful time of the year, a time when it is all too easy to run out of fucks.
Onward to 2016!
Some of that is true. Can’t wait for my fuck account to recharge.
My Percocet ain’t in the energy drawer, it’s a sleep aid……..,
For transatlantic flights. Only.
I *SO* want to read this one out loud to someone in public, just so I can say, with gusto, “I’VE RUN OUT OF FUCKS!” out loud, in public.
YOU CAN.
I just did!
Awesome!
I’ve also run out of fucks but I haven’t run out of cookies. Yet. Dammit.
Keep on a’ eatin’. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZokoGN2C18
Your resolutions came too late. Gained 7lbs since Wednesday night. How is that even possible?
Four pecan pies, not two. That’s how. In one sitting.
I’d like to help you Wankie, but I don’t give a fuck.
Where did you give them?
FUCK: a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, conjunction,modifier, and all around neat word….I like hell, shit and damn too….
It’s the one part of speech that needs no introduction. It’s the utility player of English grammar.
My resolution for the new year has already been made for me.
Don’t ever let my wife drive the car again with the bikes in the roof racks.
*sob*
That’s no resolution. That’s an injunction.