Friday, December 08, 2006

fat de la fat

G*ddd I’m bored. Everyone seems to be preoccupied with their own sh*t. I’m drifting into la-la-land. I don’t understand how come the Dr makes us sit in for such torture. It’s not even a lecture for us, it’s for those who are gonna graduate soon. I’d rather go eat.

F*ck Miss Richie is lookin’ FINE these days. She’s my thinspiration. OK She did look awfully ghastly when she went all skeletal on all of us but now that she’s chummy with Miss Hilton and eating fast food again, she sure lookin’ pretty alright y’all!! I wonder how she lost all that weight?? It’s a stupid question to which I already know the answer: lots of money!! Losing weight is nothing cheap, trust me. For starters all these A-listers and footballers wives have personal trainers who are as tough as a half-cooked chestnut. Celeb personal trainers charge a massive rate of US$100 an hour if I’m not mistaken. Even a gym membership ain’t cheap. I don’t mind running around the neighbourhood but I’ll pass at the risk of someone pulling me into the bushes and raping me around here. Then there’s either the personal chef or eating out diet-friendly. You’d be surprise to know that a hunk of salad actually costs more than a giant chicken thigh. Just the other day Ah Hathir who, like me, is constantly on a diet was moaning over the extravagant expenses it takes to dine healthily. A Fuji apple cost approx 5,000rp each while that 5,000rp worth of gorengan could last you the entire day. Fuji apple: snack.. gorengan: meal. See what I mean? Then there’s LIPOSUCTION *hail hail*. That aiya no need to mention… costs a bomb surely with post-op recovery and out-patient services. Damn I’m dying for liposuction. I’m serious, f*ck pain and all that jazz, I just wanna be thin. And don’t you even dare accuse me of pulling a Bryanboy. He’s a prat. He doesn’t need work. I do. I look at my abdomen and I see an enormous third boob the size of a Brazillian watermelon lying where my waist is supposed to be. Just the other day I was watching this lady being cut open. She was my weight worr and as they plopped her onto the autopsy table I couldn’t help notice that she looked hideously gargantuan. YEARGHH she literally looked like a mini whale or those dugong water animal kinda thing. Bet I’d look like that on the autopsy table too *shudders* As they sliced through the middle of her chest down towards her female bits I was flabbergasted by the amount of fat that lied under her skin. I must be THAT FAT. F*ck. I don’t think I have the energy to exercise it all off. Dddy kinda promised me liposuction after I’m done with my medical degree but he has been pretty hesitant with the plan ever since he heard of all the lethal complications: necrosis, death…

People can say all they wanna say ‘bout appreciating inner beauty and all that bull-crap but I stand by my choice: I want to have a Victoria Secret angel body. Maybe MTV Asia can have their own Made program and I can apply to be made into lingerie billboard. I already Brazillian wax my thang so that’s, like, sooo not a problem for me.

I wish I was out makan-ing with Miss KosKos and Miss MasMas at Paris Van Java. Instead I’m stuck in my room on-call. Crapness. I could have joined them awhile ago but I figured it was too much of a hassle to hurry home in case they beep me. And I know that I’ll be beeped today ‘cos there were already 2 bodies at the morgue before I left: a drowning victim (the mother of all carcass horrors) and a child.

OK lazy to type liao. Choose to nap instead.

P.S, disclaimer: images courtesy of A Socialite's Life

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