Day 53: Core Synergistics

Most days your body is willing to respect your requests and do what you want it to do. Today, was not one of those. It was bad - if I was famous I would have probably had to skip P90X today to do a telethon with Michael J. Fox. (Belittling the struggle and plight of one our most beloved actors stricken with  an unfair, call-the-existence-of-God-into-question degenerative muscular disorder is not funny Bomber. I get it, you're somewhat witty, but some things you think of you do not have to write. I disagree. That is all).

You see, today is March 18th making yesterday March 17th, which is the one day of the year you set an alarm to drink: St. Patrick's Day. This is a day where you excessively drink, make a wide range of generally illegal decisions, and, if you're lucky, attempt to shuve your unprotected flacid penis into a warm-hole like a magician shuving a scarf into his fisted-hand. So, naturally it is named after a Roman Catholic Saint. St. Patrick was his name and I imagine this motherfucker knew how to party -- like an incredible non-stop, party Transformer composed of parts from  Jon Belushi, Rick James, Lil' Jon, and every one's ambiguously gay Uncle with the moustache. I can, with courage and conviction, say that I did his honour proud. I drank a lot - 14 hours of it to be precise. This is apparently something to be proud of; a badge of honour that is only given out on one day of the year. I am not sure why, but I have no complaints on feeling good about myself for exhibiting 9 out of the 10 signs of alcoholism. (The 'drinking alone' one doesn't apply - there were people passed out at 4am in the dark living room I was drinking my rum in as I mumbled about how obviously gay Pat Sajak and Alex Trebek are together).

14 hours of drinking (mainly hard liquer) + Core Synergistics = shitty-cock-balls. The 'shitty-cock-balls' classification is the unofficial highest level of shittiness that can occur. As such, I do not use it often - almost never in fact. The only two other times I used it was when I was forced to watch the 'Miracle of Birth' in health class in grade nine. At the time it was horrible, but more recently it has become a super functional image in my life helping me ward off the evil being known as premature ejaculation. Try it sometime -- and if you need more 'oomph', combine that image with the one on tubgirl.com. I will not post it here because it is not appropriate. And, the second time I used it was when I thought I had gonorrhea and had to have a large jousting-sized Q-tip jammed deeply into my urethra by what I can honestly say is the weirdest man I have ever met in my life. So, yeah, in short, today was as crappy as these two situations.

We had a new addition to the troop - Raj Preet other wise known as Raj Pretzel or most commonly, PoopyTaco. She did really well for someone that is nick-named PoopyTaco. I was super amazed at her determination and unwillingness to respond to my nickname for her, PoopyTaco. Ironically, I felt like what could only be described as a PoopyTaco the whole time. But, alas, we trucked through it and totally synergized the shit out our cores. Poopy Taco!

Highlights: With the three of us, there wasn't much room. This became painfully apparent in one move - the Superman-Banana. You keep your hands and feet in the air either on your stomach, back, or sides and you switch positions every 5 seconds. I was facing left, away from Raj, we were told to move to another position, I spin over and bam! I am looking right down the gullet of what can only be described as PoopyTaco - Raj's butt, 3 inches from my face. In an amazing feat of perserverance, I lasted the 5 seconds. P90X versus PoopyTaco - the battle to end all battles - and P90X wins with convinving ease. 

State of Mind: I feel like a leprechaun vomited in my brain. But, given that, I am proud that I went through with the workout.

Rating: We did it all: P90X.