It’s a brand new year and it’s high time you got Hot and Nasty with our resident sexpert, Fadora McSexypants

Dear Fadora,

Every New Year it’s the same. I start off with the best of intentions, but by the time Semester Two rolls around, I’ve completely abandoned all my New Year’s resolutions. How do you discipline yourself? Do you have any tricks or tactics to keep yourself on the straight and narrow?

Yours desperately,

Ella, 2nd Arts.

Good evening Ella.

Ella, I’m going to go ahead and assume you’re a larger lady, in fact; I’d go so far as to wager that your second name is Phant. Christmas is good to the horizontally challenged. It is a time when we choose to forget about eating properly – every extra dollop of brandy butter falls unchallenged onto your plate and that carefully piled stack of cellophane Quality Street wrappers seems almost like your accomplishment for the day.

Well, luckily Christmas is over and we can get back to our ritualistic January self-loathing. It’s time to get back into the gym, so dig out those tight-fitting O’Neills, make a playlist on your iPod featuring only Tiesto, and get ready to be judged by a bunch of cocky pituitary retards lifting weights that are in exact inverse proportions to the size of their penises.

As you rightly point out, Babar, it is very easy to make a resolution and even easier to break it. I myself have been dead set on a major lifestyle change many times, before slipping out of the habit faster than a sexy nun at a Hallowe’en party.

That is not denying the fact that exercise is dull, tedious and difficult. Try to focus on how good you’ll look after shedding that ham baby you’ve been quietly encouraging over the last month. The key to resolutions, dear Dumbo, is in the word itself – you must be resolute. I’ll give you the same advice my father gave me on the eve of my 16th birthday; “It’s going to be hard, but you’ll have to do it or no man will ever love you.”

So stick at it, Snuffleupagus and before long you’ll get to that mysterious point all gym-goers get to, when they compartmentalise their pain and convince their mediocre brains that they truly ‘enjoy’ working out. Shoot for the moon, you engorged pachyderm – even if you miss, you’ll land amongst the stars. And by stars, I mean self-important, tight-trousered, spotty-backed evolutionary missteps gathered around some heavy things.

Happy New Year,

Love and Tickles,

Fadora McSexypants,


Next Week, Fadora explains how balls work.

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