BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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I stepped away from strength training several weeks ago. Perhaps three weeks. Ugh, the more I think about it, a month. Not important! I heaven gained significant weight, but my body feels abandoned. My muscles feel like Stacies not being pounded, smashed, punched, jackhammered, torn up. They feel like dumped bitches. Not gonna lie. They feel neglected.
My muscles reached out to me in an unusual dream the other night. I was walking a downtown area and came upon a dilapidated section of town. A shithole inside a shithole. Like a town inside India. Or San Francisco. There was a brick building with one window and stood in front, hookers standing around smoking cigarettes and swigging flasks. They looked bored and depressed. So I approached them. It's what I do. In my dreams, I'm the Whore Whisperer. The Whorsissper. The tall redhead with scrawny legs, a thin waist, and a big juicy Brazilian butt sighed when I got near. I asked her in a whisper, "What's wrong, Snoopy Poopy?"
"Ugh. You don't love me anymore." She said and lowered her head.
"Um ... first thing, I don't know who the fuck you are. And second-" she interrupts
"I'm your triceps, nigga."
Ugh, I cringed. So I stepped toward the chunky short muscular brunette. "How about yourself, how are you, Snookums?" She too sighed.
"You don't love me either, babes."
"I don't know who you are either." At that moment, I felt confused. A bewildered Whorsissper.
"I'm your biceps, asshole." Ugh, cringe.
Then the tall blackie said, "I'm your pecs."
The hobbit Canadian Stacy voiced, "Abs."
"Glutes," the land whale hottie told.
"Deltoids," the Russian milf injected then turned around and had a face on the back of her head. It spoke, Back muscles.
Then two Hispanic lolitas crawled out from the window as if they'd just burglarized that business. Together, in harmony, they declared, "Quadriceps!"
Ugh. I didn't know what to say at first. Finally, words escaped my lips in an autistic fashion, "Shiet, hoes. I aints gone! Just chill, my niggas." I said, winked, and concluded, "Big Daddy's back." They all smiled and grab one another's hands and each crawled into that window while pulling the next one from behind. It reminded me of a train of bitches.
So yesterday I've begun again. Perhaps, because Fall has come. The hummingbirds are gone. The demon of gnats vanished. The Fall mushrooms sprouted. The leaves fall. A hysteric mouse under the home nibbles during the night trying to get inside panicking from old man winter's warning. Although that motherfucker's about to meet Omega in a form of an apocalyptic trap.
My muscles reached out to me in an unusual dream the other night. I was walking a downtown area and came upon a dilapidated section of town. A shithole inside a shithole. Like a town inside India. Or San Francisco. There was a brick building with one window and stood in front, hookers standing around smoking cigarettes and swigging flasks. They looked bored and depressed. So I approached them. It's what I do. In my dreams, I'm the Whore Whisperer. The Whorsissper. The tall redhead with scrawny legs, a thin waist, and a big juicy Brazilian butt sighed when I got near. I asked her in a whisper, "What's wrong, Snoopy Poopy?"
"Ugh. You don't love me anymore." She said and lowered her head.
"Um ... first thing, I don't know who the fuck you are. And second-" she interrupts
"I'm your triceps, nigga."
Ugh, I cringed. So I stepped toward the chunky short muscular brunette. "How about yourself, how are you, Snookums?" She too sighed.
"You don't love me either, babes."
"I don't know who you are either." At that moment, I felt confused. A bewildered Whorsissper.
"I'm your biceps, asshole." Ugh, cringe.
Then the tall blackie said, "I'm your pecs."
The hobbit Canadian Stacy voiced, "Abs."
"Glutes," the land whale hottie told.
"Deltoids," the Russian milf injected then turned around and had a face on the back of her head. It spoke, Back muscles.
Then two Hispanic lolitas crawled out from the window as if they'd just burglarized that business. Together, in harmony, they declared, "Quadriceps!"
Ugh. I didn't know what to say at first. Finally, words escaped my lips in an autistic fashion, "Shiet, hoes. I aints gone! Just chill, my niggas." I said, winked, and concluded, "Big Daddy's back." They all smiled and grab one another's hands and each crawled into that window while pulling the next one from behind. It reminded me of a train of bitches.
So yesterday I've begun again. Perhaps, because Fall has come. The hummingbirds are gone. The demon of gnats vanished. The Fall mushrooms sprouted. The leaves fall. A hysteric mouse under the home nibbles during the night trying to get inside panicking from old man winter's warning. Although that motherfucker's about to meet Omega in a form of an apocalyptic trap.