2:20 pm: Watching world cup soccer. A player elbows another player from the opposing team in the chest. That player clutches his face (not his chest) like it’s been eaten by fire ants and falls over. Red card. G sums it up, “Fuck soccer.”
That drunken soccer game was fun, you have to admit. But two days later and you’re still tight, sore, and painful to use. Now, when I try to go about my daily business I look like a geriatric Frankenstien. This won’t do.
I know I should probably excersize more. But judging from your reaction to the limited high-stress use I put you through during the game, I don’t think I’ll be able to any time soon.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy