Butter Bisons at the Gym Went to the gym tonight with Mr. Ferret as usual. Spotted a deathfat training 1-on-1 with a personal trainer. The deathfat was 5 foot nothing, formerly female, and probably 270-ish pounds. It was wearing black leggings that were stretched so tightly across its ass I could see its underwear. NASA should find out what that fabric was made of. Its gut was hanging out below its T-shirt, a bright green monstrosity that said, "I'm not small, I'm fun sized." You're not small either, Miss Piggy. The second one was training with a group at the gym's "Boot Camp". As far as I can tell, it's a crossfit circuit run by the gym's obese PT and I've only ever seen other obeasts participating. Tonight there was a new one, a femayo who was breaking the scale at minimum 300 pounds. Every time the obeast trainer told her to do something, she would whine, "seriously???" Even he was getting pissed off with her. He had her doing this with the ropes (sorry not a crossfitter, not sure what that's called) and she was putting in such little effort that she was only getting 2 or 3 arcs of the rope before it laid flat on the ground. The "waves" weren't even getting anywhere near the point where the rope was anchored to the ground. Mr. Ferret and I both took notice, and had a brief discussion about it while we were stretching (and the stretching mat is right beside the crossfit astroturf) so I'm certain the beast (and the fat trainer) could hear us: Mr. Ferret: "Why waste time and money hiring a personal trainer if all you are going to do is whine and not even try?" Me: "Because then she'll be able to whine that she goes to the gym all the time and can't lose weight." I fucking hate butter bisons at the gym.