Bowling for concubine is the theme of this journal. It will leave and come back then leave and come back; it will be the herpes of this journal. I live alone and I am super single, which means I am single and happy about it. I want nothing more than a woman, not a wife, to stay with me on occasion, in fact there can be a turnstile with an assortment of women. During good stretches there have been. I will never marry, it is a failed experiment. In the laboratory if a drug or treatment fails 50% of the time, then the drug has no chance at approval, marriage is the worst kind of drug, but digress I will.
I have begun to work out consistently. I am not soft or sloppy by any stretch, but your boy is not privy to random acts of nudity on account of muscle atrophy directly caused by work, food, and arrogance.
So here I am trying to get my McConaughey on. I read that during fight training sessions Ali would refrain from sex, or any ejaculatory actions to focus his body. I thought that was a good idea.
One week into the new plan and I was demolished. I couldnÃÂt lift my arms above my shoulders; I feel your pain McCain. My legs felt heavier than George BushÃÂs conscience. It was Saturday night. A week in. I was sore and semen was spewing from my pores due to the newfound surplus. So I quit. Not working out because fat-town is not a place I want to move to. I quit the abstinence.
This no sex thing was unbearable. I was like a 7th grader again. I woke up in the middle of the night with an erection rivaling John Holmes. If...