Shredding It

I already tore it up in my lane at the posh club, so now it is time to communicate with the base. I know the question on the minds of many at poolside today was “Was this guy an Olympian? That slow, half-assed backstroke looks so familiar”. It turns out that folks were too shy to pose their query to me.

I saw my personable trainer yesterday.  He tells me my hammies are tight, so I’ll do double duty on those in my stretch routine today, which will be followed by a walk at the dog park on 3rd Ave. in San Mateo, during which I will take the hill.  You don’t get a body like mine if you don’t put in the work.

The Epstein wildfire is still out of control, which fills me with glee. After decades of slimy behavior, could this be the thing that finally takes Trump down? I don’t like being ashamed of the leader of my country. He just got roasted in the season premiere of South Park, with the creators sticking their thumb in the eye of Paramount just after inking a $1.5B deal with them. They tossed in some tiny dick jokes for good measure.

I turned my kitchen into a mac and cheese factory yesterday. My driveway cocktail buddy up the street just had a hip replacement, so I went up for a visit and dropped my wares. Another friend in SF took a tumble so my wife dropped off his portion after visiting one of her girlfriends up there.  I had planned to freeze some for my brother, but I’ll work up another batch for my visit next week. My mac and cheese has received many a plaudit, and I’m going to let the cat out of the bag.  You gotta us Tillamook extra sharp cheddar.

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