I don’t have the energy for a witty intro. I was too busy in the gym getting more brolick than your favorite blogger’s favorite blogger. If your favorite blogger’s favorite blogger happens to be me, then the previous statement falls apart like Miami at the end of Game 5. Anyway…
Eff the amount of work that hit my desk on Thursday. I ain’t even talkin’ drugs. Like seriously, everybody had some time-sensitive request and the simplest tasks seemed to take me half an hour to accomplish. Oh yeah, eff running payroll. The only numbers I enjoy calculating are paychecks and the number of licks it takes for her to get to the center of my tootsie pop. #crass
Eff my abs for cramping up every time I try to do this one exercise at the gym. I get through a few reps and my stomach knots up and moves like there’s an alien or hellspawn in it. I’m telling you. It’s both gross and painful. Think charlie horse in your stomach. You know how charlie horses make you roll around in agony? Imagine me doing that in the gym in front of posh chicks with bougie water. In Soup Nazi Voice: No numbers for you!
Eff the dudes who stand around in the locker room naked and carry on conversations. I’m trying to get to the shower and gotta heteroly walk past flapping gums and flapping d*cks. No matter how much I just look straight ahead, somebody appears out of no where with their jawn all out and towel over the shoulder. You f*cktard. Put the towel around your waist! Pause all over this. Pause and that phrase Cam’ron started.
Eff me for not finishing my personal trainer certification. I could be making good money and then I wouldn’t have to keep asking for donations for my Cali trip just like this. Yep, I’m still plugging. If you already assisted, thanks and you’ll receive some type of communication from me after the campaign has ended. Other than that, I’za done for today.
Your turn. Go ahead and share your effs.