Monday, May 24, 2010

Chest and [FL]abs

We've all seen it:  the moronic, inbred, thinks-he's-hot 20-something fraternity drop-out with a somewhat decent body- until you see his stomach. 
Beer has taken over his gut, and he doesn't seem to realize it.  He continues to pump the iron for those amazing arms, pecs, thighs and legs, all while thinking he still has a six-pack that can be shown off anywhere.  To me, all that work is definitely wasted because if I were one of the 13 blond bimbos underneath him at Senior Week (which he still looks forward to year-round), my g-spot would definitely not be in working order after seeing that mound between pecs of steel and hairless man-parts.

Yo, douchebag... keep your sparkly Ed Hardy shirt on, try single-fisting a light beer (because we know you can't stop drinking) and act your age.  Oh, and we could care less about your tribal art arm band tattoo that's perfectly placed around your amazing bicep.  It's so sad that your type is a dime per dozen, no?

.you are a plague.

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