If you missed is somehow, Men’s Fitness Magazine declared Miami as the “Fattest City in America.” We’re Number One.

Also listed was the nation’s fittest city, but who cares? Let’s celebrate our own victory, and leave lesser titles for underachievers across the fruited plain to gloat inside their igloos.

The magazine has conducted this annual rating for over a decade. Their concern, of course, is purely pecuniary: its editors understand that when it comes to fitness, shame, guilt, pride, etc. are better motivators than vanity. Even the desire to get laid takes a back seat. Maybe, by fingering Miami, they can peddle a few more subscriptions in a new market.

Perhaps. If they bring out a Spanish language version.

Among the factors cited: despite the climate, the local population doesn’t take advantage of the city’s excellent parks and recreational facilities, there are a disproportionate number of crappy and unhealthy fast food outlets, and ‘way too much time is lost to commuting when exercise should be conducted.

I understand, but these are lame excuses, easily embraced by individuals whose motivation just isn’t there. I offer myself as Exhibit A. I weigh about the same as I did when President Roosevelt (Theodore) visited my class in Central High School, Philadelphia. (Which, by the way, is the last time the Eagles won a Division title. But just wait — after this weekend, it’ll happen again. The Eagles, that is, not a visit from Roosevelt.)

jordache-look3_002If you still care about your appearance, you’ll do something. Anything. It’s a question of values. Eat less or at least better. I still wear the Jordache and French Star jeans I wore from my rock star days (well, in basement rehearsals), which saves me a lot of money I can spend on fine tequila and H. Upmann cigars.  Values. Pick your sins and stick with ’em.  I wanna look good enough to inspire strange women to eye my package, grope my ass and…..whoops. Hi, Guido. You reading this?

Anyway. It’s Friday. Happy weekend, everybody. I’m already there.

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12 Responses to Cheeks

  1. Ms Calabaza says:

    Jordache Jeans???

  2. Trainer says:

    Fast food franchises aren’t t what make people fat. Consumers still have to make the decision to patronize them. Nobody’s forced to eat there.

    If the implication is that there’s too much temptation, then the answer is there’s not enough character to resist. When I take on clients, we spend a lot of time addressing mindsets, because without that, all the physical training in the world won’t work, let alone last.

    Jordache jeans? Really? Haven’t seen them on the street since Duran Duran had a hit.

  3. Camiel Toe says:

    It WOULD be strange women who grope YOUR ass. BTW, other than ads like this one, I don’t think I ever saw a man’s ass in Jordache. I didn’t know they even made men’s jeans.

  4. cara says:

    Are you sure the Jordache jeans aren’t Guido’s?

  5. Otis Repair says:

    This sounds just wrong. I moved to Miami 5 years ago, and I’m still knocked out by all the gorgeous women and buff men I see every day, ‘way more than I ever saw in New York. You really want to tell me there aren’t more fatties per capita in Kansas City or Milwaukee? Ever been to Cincinnati?

    I repair elevators for a living. In Cincinnati, office buildings have 2 freight elevators: regular passenger models keep breaking down.

  6. SuperBee says:

    GAWD. New Aspiration: Date someone that looks like a 1982 Jordache Men’s Jeans Model.

    Rrrrrow! But of course, I always have been drawn to the fuzzy, flannely, 70s pornstar look…

  7. guido says:

    Yes, dear….I am. Just for the record, dear….you have no ass to grope. & as for eying your package, well they can eye anything they want. Just remember, it all belongs to me and I’m not into sharing. And I wouldn’t brag too much about your 1960-1970’s wardrobe; after all bellbottoms haven’t come back into fashion for men yet. But rest assured if they do, you’ll be ready. Oh & no tequila while the sun’s up, please.

  8. squathole says:

    cara: I’m pretty sure. Guido and I have rather different body styles, beginning with gender. I don’t have an ass. She, um, does. No, they’re my pants, alright. Can tell by the stains.

    Trainer: I agree 100%.

    Otis, my reaction mirrors yours: I don’t believe it. They must be looking at Canadian and midwestern tourists on the beach. When I was in Cincinnati, my build was so different than 75% of the population (many from Kentucky) I felt like a different species.

    Bee: You mean, one of the those new kinds of “bums” you posted about?

  9. Squathole says:

    Whoops. Good afternoon, m’love. Having a pleasant day? Heh heh. Heh.

  10. You May Call Me Pierre says:

    Your country is fat, your city even fatter. You are Americans and you know even less of nutrition and diet than you do of style and taste. Fat Germans with their foul smelling cabbage and fatty meats are less disgusting in their consumption than Americans with their sugar, fried grease, and empty calories.
    Yes and the trend is to the worse, not better.

  11. Maria says:

    Jordache jeans? I think I’m in love! (no worries, Guido, it’s all look but don’t touch!)

    Squat, it’s nice to stop by here. Ever since I started blogging for a living my blogging pleasure has gone down the drain.

  12. FerfeLabat says:

    God I hate the French.

    We would take advantage of the parks if there were less chance of being mugged. of course, if we could run faster, being mugged would not be a problem. Catch-22

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