I watched fight club recently and those books Edward Norton found kind of stuck in my head so here is my version.
You would think that a muscle that works as hard as I do all day would be all svelt and buff but no, I am covered with so much fat that I feel like a piece of bacon. I guess that is fitting seeing as Joe seems to consider bacon a condiment, his condiment of choice and what he doesn't wrap in bacon he slathers in butter, real butter. Joe is not the picture of health.
I flex 200 times a minute just to get his fat ass off the couch, luckily for me I guess, he doesn't seem to do that very often. Do not even get me started on stairs. Have you ever seen a heart cry ? Not a pretty sight. I have tried to smarten Joe up a few times; just stop beating for a minute or 5, flex as tight as possible until he almost collapses. He goes to the hospital, gets Frankenstein'd back to life, then he picks up a bag of chips on his way home to celebrate his still being alive. Joe is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
When Joe does actually manage to weeble-wobble his way into the daylight I have to hear all those heathly hearts beating nice and evenly. Thump, thump.......thump, thump.....thump, thump. Sitting in their fat free bodies, watching Joe waddle by and laughing at poor me running a marathon just to keep Joe putting one foot in front of the other. Alas what can I do but keep him alive until he kills me.
I am Joe's tired ass heart.