Well well well. Here we are again.
I thumped my bag down on my desk and looked at the forlorn bunch of beggars that were gathered around me in the office.
Happy New Year.
Grunted Mattock, a Zebra's buttock of a man.
Aye, it was but not now. Not now we are back in this festering shithole.
I flumped down in my chair and groaned. It hurt to be back at work. It hurt worse when they made you come into the office. I grabbed a spare lead and connected my laptop whilst watching the denizens of the office skulk about pretending to be busy.
As my monitors zapped into life, I spied a familiar blobbishness approach. Oh bollocks, it was Sick-Line. A pallid, overweight individual who resembled a poorly-haired testicle.
He stopped at my desk and did an odd-looking jig. He was remarkably light on his feet, no doubt from all the running away after stealing underwear from ladies' washing lines.
Look who the cat dragged in!
Sick-Line managed to sound as if he was yelling without raising his voice to Manager alerting levels.
Aye aye, that's me. Dragged in by all the cats.
I studiously ignored his bulk looming over my screen like a lardy moon attempting an eclipse.
Well, Boom-boom. I am here with a message.
He leaned over my screen causing it to screek with the pressure of his moobs. His breath wheezed out of him with a hooing noise and he licked his lips salaciously.
Your ass... is GRASS! HA!
He pulled back and shook his hands out to the side like a Bollywood dancer in a flower petal storm.
I closed my eyes and looked heavenward. My ass was grass. Couldn't he have come up with something less eighties?
And why my large-boned friend would my 'ass be grass?'
I picked up my coffee and tried to hide behind it as I took a gulp.
Because I am on the Keto now, the weight is falling off me. It's fucking amazing. Won't be long before fatties like you are shining my shoes.
Sick-Line turned side on and started caressing his beer belly as if it were a giant meaty crystal ball in which he hoped to divine the future. His attempt to push his stomach in was slightly spoiled by his moobs rolling about rebelliously under his shirt like beefy cannonballs in a bathtub.
Fatties like me?
I raised an eyebrow. Was he mental? Was he insinuating I had put on a couple of festive pounds? I mean, I had but that didn't mean that everyone suddenly stopped wanting to shag me.
You should give it a shot. Help you shift some of the Christmas weight.
He winked as if we were members of the same exclusive club, the idea of which was possibly the most frightening I could imagine.
Cheeky fucker.
What's this Keto nonsense then? Let me guess, it involves not eating properly for a couple of months and as a result, you lose half a stone before quitting and putting it all back on and then some?
I snorted, like a man in his prime telling his son that he didn't kill the spider that scared him even though he did.
Sick-Line reared up in outrage.
No. It's changing your eating habits for good. Low carb, high fat. We are all doing it. You would know that if you came into the office more.
He smirked, happy to be on the right side of the new office class divide of those who come in and those who don't.
Changing your eating habits for good. Ha. I will give you twenty quid if you are still on it by the end of February.
I laughed and fixed Sick-Line with my best challenger stare.
He frowned as what I had said sunk in. Then his face lit up with joy.
Twenty quid? Easy peasy. This isn't a fad. This is my new healthy eating lifestyle. You have yourself a bet!
He leaned over my screens again and stuck out a pudgy paw to seal the deal.
Grudgingly, I shook it and watched him proudly stomp away humming like a whale.
Twenty pounds? He will stick with it till then just to spite you.
Mumbled Mattock from the desk beside me.
I know. It will be torture for him.
I chortled happily.
Best twenty quid I will ever spend.
