Today Berk and I spent the majority of the day editing scenes for the cartoon that none of you believe we are working on. After an extremely productive 45 minutes we decided that we deserved a delicious meal so we treated ourselves to Arctic Circle (downtown SLC on 9th south, they give you free chocolate dipped mini-cones). After supping on our tasty burgers and golden fries, conversation turned from how poor people disgust us, to running, and how best to train for a triathlon. All very normal topics to discuss when you are two guys who rarely get much deeper than the sort of shallow conversation mentioned. However, today was different. Today we bonded.
Berk mentioned to me that he was thinking of the evolution of the "Sweet Bro". How he has gone from popped collar and upside down visor to super skinny jeans and 80 dollar shirts, torn in just the right way to make him look brooding and artistic. We laughed, mocked, and stood firmly on our soap box speaking to one another of how stupid they look in their skinny jeans. An awkward silence followed until broken by both of us confessing simultaneously that we would both really like to fit into skinny jeans. "You too!" was the follow up.
The only thing staying of embarrassment was the comfort that the other felt the same way. You see, Berk and I, along with Devon share a similar fate. We are all men who eat food and run. This dangerous combination has resulted in normal thighs. Normal thighs that when forced into a pair of skinny jeans splits junk in twain making us feel extremely self-conscious. "Could I possibly be this fat?" is the questions that nags. "Could I really have let myself turn into a meaty Olsen Twin?"
The answer is no. I'm not fat. I've just figured out that I don't have to be malnourished.
Most of the people who read this blog live in the states, and here in the U.S. we have food that we can eat. We have food that we can throw away. We have pies made specifically for throwing at clowns. Africa, I know that you don't believe what I'm saying, but I'm not telling lies out of school. Delicious key lime pies are splattered on the mugs of clowns every waking hour of the American day. We call it "Getting pied" so suck on it Africa, you condescending pricks.
Rarely do I have a point in these posts and this one is no exception. However, I do want to ask you all a question. When you judge a persons thighs by what they may or may not fit into, I want you to ask yourself, honestly, who would you rather have at your side when faced with imminent starvation? I'm looking at you Africa. After all, you started all of this "emaciated thigh" business.