Fresh from a shit I stepped on my scale.
The scale squealed 200 at me.
Three pounds down, my self esteem must be waning. The abuse is working.
I'm a bit surprised I lost anything considering the wine, beer and beef I consumed this past week.
Maybe the trick involves riding a skateboard.
I poo-pushed myself to work and back one day. Now one calf and both thighs are on fire.
But the belly still hangs.
I'm a bit surprised I lost anything considering the wine, beer and beef I consumed this past week.
Maybe the trick involves riding a skateboard.
I poo-pushed myself to work and back one day. Now one calf and both thighs are on fire.
But the belly still hangs.
Hurl.
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5 comments:
I got one lb on you fat boy. 199. We're red neck and neck.
Well, you should stop resting your belly on the sink while you're weighing yourself. The heat is on, on the street. Inside your head, on every beat. And the beats alive, deep inside. The pressure's high just to stay alive.
'Cause the heat is on.
The heat is defiantly on.
so, are you doing that with your chest or is that just how it looks? kinda looks like tom, or jerry, which ever is the cat, whenever a girl cat walks by and he wants to look all buff and tough, and puffs out his chest.
that last photo is priceless...
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