Support My Work


I've run out of excuses...

“Why are you screaming now?”


“I just smashed the top of my head into the garage door.”


“How is that even possible?”


“I pressed the ‘down’ button and was trying to run out before it came down, and…”


“Wait. Stop. Firstly, you don’t run. You kind of lumber at the moment – and you never really were much of a runner. Secondly, you’ve walked under the descending garage door a million times. How was this time different?”


“I’m not fucking having this discussion with you. You’re just too hostile.”


“You need to stop moaning and get back to the gym.”


“The gym? I had a motorcycle accident a week ago. I fell down some stairs two weeks before that. Both sides of my body are equally broken, but healing at different speeds. The gym is not something I can do right now.”


“Why’s that? Is your Lazy Bitch gland running hot? One week of lying on the coach whimpering and moaning and showing me your bruises like you think I’m made of sympathy, is long enough. And no, I am not calling you ‘My Lord Husband’ or seeking to ease your ‘Honorable Battle Wounds.’ Get the fuck to the gym.”


“What could I possibly do there?”


“Lift. Try to lift. Make an effort. Go for a swim. Float in the fucken pool like a fat penguin. I don’t care. But fucken move. You will feel better. You know you will.”


“I could go for a ride.”


“That’s not exercise. That’s going for a ride, then coming home and groaning at me about how much your shit aches and how much you hate Jacaranda trees.”


“But it does ache.”


“So go and exercise and de-ache yourself.”


“I can go and walk around Bunnings.”


“And I can set fire to your bike gear. Stop making excuses. Go to the gym.”


“Have you seen how bruised my arm is?”


“Yes. Does it still work? Yes. Now think how awesome the gym-rats will think you are when they see you lifting with those bruises. You’ll be like a purple-and-green mega-hulk.”


“Appealing to my vanity does not work. I have none.”


“I’m not appealing to your vanity. Why do you lift?”


“To be hard to kill.”


“Are you hard to kill at the moment?”


“Not really.”


“I can see the fear in your eyes. I could take you out quite easily. You can’t even escape by running away.”


“Where’s my gym bag?”


“In your office where you tried to hide it. There’s a fresh towel in it. Eat a banana. Fuck off.”

Subscribe and get to see the real spicy stuff and much more

Choose subscription plan
Payment details


Check HERE to see what you get

Alternatively, Tip me without subscribing if you enjoy my work.

Donation amount
Donation frequency

Or Via Paypal

Notify of
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

Boris Mihailovic

Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.

My Cart Close (×)

Your cart is empty
Browse Shop