Co-worker thinks he has more 'meat' on his body than I do.  Spoiler alert: It's just fat. So, it's lunch time, and I'm sitting with fit co-worker.  We're chatting about our goals for the year.  Mine is a 4 plate dl, his is a 3 plate squat.  When in comes-a-lumberin' Fatty McFatterson.  Fatty is a mayo rancher of epic proportions.  His gut enters a room before he does, and when he stops moving, said gut takes a few seconds to catch up. Fit co-worker: I guess you're about finished harvesting that bulk. Me: Pretty much.  155 seems good.  But I might cut another 5, just to get rid of these last jiggly genetics.  Just don't want to lose too much strength. ...at this point Fatty McFatterson is within range of our conversation, and decides to interject his greasy ranch thoughts on top of our verbal salad. Fatty: 155?! ...that's almost half of me! You need to get some meat on your bones! Fit co-worker: like you? Fatty: Yeah! Me: I want more meat on my bones.  This is why I lift heavy-ass weights.  So I can get more MEAT on my bones.  Not FAT. Fatty: Fuck you.  This is mostly muscle! At this point, fatty proceeds to 'flex'.  If you need a mental image of this activity, picture a moist, droopy ballsack, being exposed to the Canadian winter. Me: Prove it.  Meet me at the gym.  I'll deadlift my body weight, then you try to deadlift yours.  Then I'll deadlift your bodyweight. Fatty: I can't lift heavy things.  I have conditions. Fit co-worker: pizza isn't a condition. Fatty: Fuck you, assholes.  I'm going to get you fired. ...and with that, Fatty McFatterson lumbered off into the sunset... and, for a moment, blocked out all incoming light. Spoiler alert:  It's been a few weeks, and we're still working there.  At this point, I feel like I can shitlord all I want and never get fired.  Not like I care, it's a shit job anyway.