As I write this, I am inhaling leftover cream-cheese rolls, wings and half-empty beers. I may not understand or like football, but, goddamn, I love the Superbowl. Normally, when you invite people over to your house they only bring a mess, just enough alcohol for themselves, and bad jokes. The
SuperBowl is a whole other ballgame - it makes your friends better people to have over. It's like Christmas, but without disturbing and smelly old people that you are forced to listen too (Madden is gone now). Since my TV makes my roommate's moving image screen look like an etch-a-sketch, my depressing, dungeon of
masturbatory hopelessness was nominated as the party spot. It worked out well. Every person played an integral part in creating the most heart-stopping, boner-inducing smorgasbord of
delectable grease-infused treats that I have ever seen. I've never been happier to hang out with inferior people. Without me saying a word, some guy I've never met in my life cooked and served a platter of 52 wings. (I later found out that he was Adam's brother).
All of this plus the fact I apparently missed Friday's workout might lead one to think my odyssey of body-rippitude is coming to an end. To those, I say nay! I had to skip my Friday workout because I had to write the LSAT on Saturday. (Apparently, no hot girls or guys for that matter, want to be lawyers. This makes me not want to be a lawyer - mostly because according to my unnecessarily absolute statement above, I could not be good-looking, which is absurd). So, I subbed in the workout today. And killed it. With my new Wal-Mart weights in tow, I viciously assaulted my muscles. They should be placed in a Yellow Brick home. Although, I ate enough grease for a small-man to slip on and drown in, I am happy I had the willpower to fit in a workout beforehand.
Highlights: General ass-kickery and mega-pumpage.
State of Mind: I watched Rudy the other day and his lack of determination makes me laugh. I am seeing this shit through no matter what.
Rating: P83X
No comments:
Post a Comment