Back in the GYM of things!

Hi y'all! And by y'all I mean the 2 or 3 people that actually read this thing. Anyway, I've decided from now on, all my blogs will have hilariously obvious-but-not-exactly-sounding-the-same puns like the good ol' Pokémon episodes of yore like "Beauty and the Beach!" and "Primeape goes bananas!" for titles. And yes, they must all end in exclamation marks and be spoken in a manner so that the pun is drilled into you and there is no possible way you can miss it.

As I write this I'm sitting in my singlet and shorts after just having been to the gym for the second time since schoolies. Yeah, it's been a long time. A very long time. 61 days according to the lady who scanned my membership card. How she knew and I didn't, either a) she watches me when I go to the gym and has had no-one as beautiful as I to gaze upon for the 61 days prior and it had slowly started to drive her mad and in a fit of insanity she kidnapped a boy around my age and imprisoned him, forced him into a curly haired wig and made him follow the same workout routine as I did, watching him with a sadistic relish and when I re-appeared at the gym she was so astonished and relieved that she just let the words "sixty one days" escape from her mouth, finally allowing herself to think of the consequences of her actions and just how long she would be in jail for before she ran out into the car park and broke down screaming. Or b) it displayed it on the screen when she scanned my card. I'm inclined to think the former.

WHO'S THAT POKÉMON!?!?!?

Anyway...Where was I...? Oh yes, my absence from the gym.
61 days is a long time not to be gymming it. I felt it when I first went back, my 15 minute run becoming a 12.5 minute jog. My 15 reps of weights dropping down to 12. Everything was harder. It didn't help that I'd seen New Moon on schoolies. That's what I attribute my super-enhanced vanity to. If I wasn't body concious before, I am now. Goddamn Taylor Lautner. I mean, c'mon, how can a guy like me compete with those perfect puppy pecs? Those delicious doggy deltoids? Those ripped Rottweiler...I can't think of a body part that starts with R. He's buff okay? Get the picture? The real kicker is he's actually younger than me. For all the other buff people I saw and said "Oh, they're older than me, I can't look like that yet", but this guy... It's... Gah.

Now I don't hate my body, it's actually a pretty good body with lots of potential. The way I see it is your body is like a temple. A non-religious temple. Unless you're religious. But in my case a non-religious temple. Kinda like a house. Let's just say house. What kind of person would I be if I just let my house get all dilapidated and run down, didn't mop or dust and didn't give it a new coat of paint every now and again? In other words if I just let myself go, get fat, get smelly and dirty and...my paint get chipped and worn... Okay, just forget about the paint part. But the rest is true.

It's.............TAYLOR LAUTNER!

If I have the potential to look like Jacob Black, then what kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try to do it? I mean it's not like I don't have the time. I write a blog, of course I have spare time. I've got access to a gym. All I'm missing is the anabolic steroids. I'm not saying body image is everything, but it is something. As long as my mind has to be tied to this piece of meat, I'm at least gunna try to make it look good. Might be vain, but what's wrong with vanity of this scale? It's not like I'm getting plastic surgery or taking steroids. And it's making me fit. And fitness always comes in handy. Like when...um...you're swimming! Don't wanna drown. And...um... When you're being chased by a pack of hungry wolves? being able to run 2km's is sure to come in handy then.

Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you're stuck thinking "Wow, Shane's 18th is coming up fast! What should I get him for his birthday?" Then you know that the answer is steroids. Preferably the kind that don't cause liquid retention please.

Here we go!

Okay, a friend said to me "You should get a blog!" and hasn't mentioned it for quite some time but I'm going to pretend it was his persistent nagging that got me to abandon my hectic schedule and write about pretty much nothing.

Blog name- Pretty self explanatory. I rant as I am sometimes prone to do, only using the powers of the written word combined with the accessibilty that only the internet could offer, my rants are granted immortality. So that's all cleared up. Good.

First thing I want to talk/write/rant about is the Sham-Wow! If you haven't seen this beauty in action, I command you as the Overlord of this particular blog, to YouTube it this instant.

Seen it?

Good! Now you can't tell me that a towel that can hold 10x it's weight in fluid isn't friggin'awesome. You see what he did to that wet jumper? He just rolled it up in the Sham-Wow! and it was completely dry. That isn't great. That isn't even awesome. That's magic. That's what it is. It's f***ing magic! If you wanted to buy one of these things without a credit card, you'd probably have to go to Diagon Alley. To top it all off, the guy selling this magical towel is probably the same guy who sold "magic beans" to Jack. I mean if he tried to sell me anything, I'd HAVE to buy it. He's just so ridiculously convincing. Maybe he only sells magic things? Maybe he's a wizard using his magic to convince us to buy his magical crap! Oh my god... I think I've stumbled onto the secret of the century! Jack was stupid, Vince Offer swapped him magical beans for 3 easy payments of $19.95 (+ postage and handling), people who watch midday infomercials are stupid and he's pulling the same trick!

But that's besides the point. The point is I want one of these magical towels. Or at least change my name to "Shan-Wow!". Just so when girls ask me why I can say "Cause I'll have you saying Wow...every time"

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Anyway, so if you're ever hanging out with me and you see some pretty girls, call me Shan-Wow. Which brings me to my next topic. Pretty girls.

I was watching TV ealier today and I saw a City Beach ad (I think that's what it's called) and the ad is full of hot chicks and not-so-hot guys. Now I might be slightly biased, but if you look around, there's a helluva lot more very attractive girls then there is guys. Like it's insane if you actually open up your eyes and look for it. Now what does this prove? Well, thanks to my year 12 education in Biology that I did in year 11, I know exactly, 100% what this proves.

One of two things.

1. Males were more likely to choose attractive female partners and because of this attractive females were more likely to breed and pass down attractive genes to their daughters.

2. Females weren't as shallow as men and chose more deep, important characteristics in a partner rather than base their decision entirely on appearence and as such, good looks in males wasn't such a massive part of genetic selection.

Or a combination of the two.

Now incase you don't know me too well or haven't picked up on it by now, I'm a feminist. So this observation led me on further thinking about relationships and partners and the like. Without getting too much like one of those bad romance movies that comes out almost every second week, the moral of this little lesson is, guys, realise that girls won't judge you solely on what you look like and as long as you're a good person and they're not a bitch, you should be fine. Just try not to be shallow when you're looking for a partner. Or do be shallow. Cause if you're not then over an extended period of time of men not being shallow, female appearence will drop until your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson will be married to a troll.

....

Damn, I lost it.