Get Kim Kardashian’s Butt By Friday
May 5, 2009 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
I am at war with my scale. Anyone who tells you to go out and buy a digital scale, I want you to go out, buy it, find that person, then slam them in the mouth with that digital scale as hard as you can.
Right now, I’m in an all-out war with the bulge. It’s so intense, I have two scales in my house. One digital, one Wii (balance board). The Wii version is good to me. It tells me my BMI, my weight, and asks me to give a realistic goal for the X-amount of pounds I plan to lose and when. Sounds easy enough. My digital scale? Makes me want to go to Fatburger and gorge myself until the pain goes away. There is a three pound difference – THREE POUNDS – between the balance board and digital scale. Three pounds doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re trying to lose weight, three pounds is the determining factor between fitness bliss and blowing your brains out. You work out, you eat right, your clothes are looser. You think you’re really making progress. Then you plant your hooves and cankles on a digital scale and all hell breaks loose.
I don’t like reality television. Never have, from its inception. I watch TV to GET AWAY from crazy people. Why would I want to watch them without a script? Reality programming is like the degenerate step-sibling in the family tree. The one everyone knows exist but no one likes to talk about. “Oh, him? Yeah, that’s my reality TV. He’s only related through marriage. We don’t really claim him.” And try as I might to swear off all reality TV, and curse those who call it their god, I have been bound and gagged by a show or two.
My latest (AND ONLY) guilty pleasure is Keeping Up With The Kardashians. I don’t care if she made a sex tape, make me a man and the chances are extremely high I would do Kim Kardashian. The girl is gorgeous without even trying, she makes me sick. But sick, like, I want to lick her face, sick. I don’t know why.
Kim does girls with big booties [stepping into that group] proud. I’ve never seen a non-Black girl rival the booty of Jennifer Lopez. Who knew big booties could span the realms of so many different ethnicities? While she does me proud to sport junk in my trunk, I wouldn’t say she does me so proud I’d go around in a leopard print pencil skirt. That’s just balls right there.
Perusing the internet, I stumbled on this:
I love Kim. I do. I hate that I do, but I do. But seriously? Do you feel like this girl is breaking a sweat? What is this, some kind of joke? Does she get pleasure out of making regular folks look bad? I mean, who comes to a work-out coordinated in black sneakers and a black unitard, fully made and coiffed? I work out more in my pinky toe, and I guarantee you I look like spit before, during AND after the workout!
And HOLY CRAP there are reviews. And they’re… good? “This really works.”, “I’m really sore.”, “Pretty intense.”…
OK, what muscle is really being worked on here?
How much will I get sued for slamming Kim Kardashian in the face with a digital scale? The world may never know.
