Sunday, June 22, 2014

Vulgar R and R

I swear... if I see ONE MORE motherfucking neon-colored tutu, I'm going to lose my shit.

As you can see, I'm still very much easily agitated.
I tried making this weekend all about rehab... physical rehab, that is... obviously I don't have a substance abuse problem because I'd have to first consume some sort of mind-altering, addictive substance.
I took off from the gym since Wednesday, a little light work on Thursday (because I HAVE A PROBLEM, ok?! I can't just quit cold-turkey... it fucking KILLS me), and then NO physical activity until this evening, when I just HAD to hula-hoop to keep form going stir crazy (how can people be ok with inactivity? That fucking shit gives me a headache AND gives me nausea... like a nasty case of immaculate conception).
I just sat home and watched soccer match after soccer match. This is probably why I'm so irritable... I screamed at the television six hour of each day... either out of excitement, or extreme frustration.
"GET UP! YOU MOTHERFUCKING PUSSY ASS BITCH!!"
"YOU'RE FUCKING GERMAN! SINCE WHEN ARE YOU FRAGILE?!
"A fucking foot to your motherfucking cleat is THAT FUCKING EXCRUCIATING?! MAN UP, BIIIIIITCH!"
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' 'BOUT!!"
"YOU'RE A MOTHERFUCKING BEEEEEEEEAST!!!!"

My vulgar World Cup antics are well documented across the lands...
I don't fuck around with that shit.
I still feel a little bit of tinnitus just writing that shit... I feel horrible for my viewing partners (for the first time in the history of my family, my DAD joined the futbol furor! Shit got annoying after he refused to only cheer for ONE team per game... the man cheers for every damn goal made-- he's the bimbo of the group).

Anyway, how's my foot doing? It's aiight.
Now don't talk to me... tomorrow's going to suck dick... fucking World Cup... fucking Mexico.
(I guess my passion for this shit is back... just extra testosterone-y. Lovely)

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