doesn't mean you can come to my gym now.
New Year's resolutions don't work, especially not for fat fucks who just want to sweat and hyperventilate on a treadmill to poetically mirror the brain-dead, meaningless rat race of the rest of their lives. Maybe you think that this time you'll summon the will to power or some other motivational bullshit. You won't. You waited all year not doing a goddamned thing while your reflection ate away at your soul, little by little, and now you decide to do something about it - not because you reached deep down within yourself to see what you had in you but because of a stupid yearly tradition and social pressure that's making you go through the motions like every other endeavor you've partaken. Stay home tucked in your warm little bed. It's a cold world out there, and you're not lighting a fire within yourself anytime soon.
Besides, my gym is in my carport, and last January was bad enough with you faggots hogging all the equipment. I'll be waiting under the squat rack with a shotgun if you're stupid enough to come anyways.