I was at Salsa on Friday and noticed an unusual increase in the number of attendees and the number of young, hot, fuckable women. One look around them told me they weren’t British: No awful clothes. Not much flesh on display. No pads of fat hanging down over the elbows from the triceps. No orange… Continue reading

I was in Newcastle shopping yesterday. The sun was shining. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror while going up the elevator in Primark and I thought my tricep looked quite defined and my gynaecomastia was nice and rounded, almost masquerading as pec. I was in a good mood. I was ambling through… Continue reading