Humor
Fat Woman Casually Wears “Hustle For The Muscle” Tank
Because F*ck You
This Hustle For The Muscle tank is optimal athletic wear. So yes, I will absolutely wear it while sitting on the couch, watching YouTube assemblages of Brendan Fraser, because FUCK YOU.
The tank’s semi-metallic, italicized font is indeed motivating. It motivates me to take up all the space in which the couch provides. And I will escalate this monopolization of space quickly and dramatically — watch me extend this ponytail of mine to cover the armrest, because FUCK YOU.
Wow, all this stretching. I could use a nap. That’s right, I’m going to sleep in this athletic tank. I am going to transform it into a pajama top, because FUCK YOU.
Forty-five minutes later, I am startled awake by an Encino Man/George of the Jungle/The Mummy mash up video. I am overcome with desire. I contemplate a resolution that requires me to move the least—I decide to masturbate wearing only my athletic-tank-turned-sleepwear-turned-lingerie, because FUCK YOU.
Go ahead, assume that I will be participating in some sort of fitness shenanigans now that I’ve completed the tasks of napping and pleasuring myself. I am indeed dedicated to working out; I’ve exorcised voices that once snickered “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” because FUCK YOU and BACON IS MIND-BLOWING.
Sure, I could have selected a different tank to wear while napping, masturbating, and ignoring societal expectations to work out. But I wore this tank on purpose, because FUCK YOU.
Gosh! You know what I’ve yet to consider? My hunger! I am so hungry that I’m going to DoorDash a humongous, unladylike amount of food. And when inquired how many sets of utensils I need, I will say JUST ONE, because FUCK YOU.
Since this tank is my favorite article of clothing, I’ll be extra careful not to spill any food on it. Watch as I recline into my chair. I place the platter directly on my tits, wobble ever so slightly in order to test the structural integrity of my tit table, and then eat with absolute splendor, because FUCK YOU.
Before I scamper off into the kitchen to procure my evening’s dessert, I’d like to take a moment to gaze deeply into your eyes and sincerely say…
FUCK YOU.
