“It’s not a beer belly. It’s a fuel tank to a well oiled love machine.”
Some day, I’m going to be able to use that ad nauseum whenever someone makes a joke at the expense of my massive gut. I don’t have a gut yet, but just as I aspire to drop that line, I wish and train for a massive belt buster. I know it’s terrible for my health and could lead to a myriad of health issues in my later years, but frankly I don’t give a good cran-apple. From the age of 21 to about 29 I worked out every day, counted calories and said NO to too many delicious treats because I was just a little obsessed about my appearance. I now live in the land of “I don’t give turd”. Bring on the Dunkin munchkins!
To get some inspiration, I searched the web for the quintessential beer belly. The kind that take years of beers and no sweat or tears. I think I’ve amassed quite a collection of potential candidates for Greatest Gut Ever. Feast your eyes while I feast my face. You know what tastes good on top of cheesecake? Another cheesecake.