Diary

Bowling for concubine is the theme of this journal. It will leave and come sustain 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 contented about it. I want nothing more than a woman, not a wife, to stay with me on occasion, in item there can be a turnstile with an assortment of women. During ethical stretches there have been. I will never marry, it is a failed experiment. In the laboratory if a drug or handling 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 bareness on account of muscle atrophy directly caused by work, food, and arrogance. So here I am trying to run short 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 tidy idea.

One hebdomad into the new plan and I was demolished. I couldn?t lift my arms above my shoulders; I notice your pain McCain. My legs felt heavier than George Bush?s conscience.



It was Saturday darkness. A week in. I was sore and semen was spewing from my pores due to the newfound surplus. So I bar. 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 the...

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