After working out with my exercise-holic mother, I have come to the conclusions that a) I am disturbingly out of shape and b) my mother is the Terminator. When I tell someone that I cannot accomplish a pushup to save my life, I don't mean the pathetically-overused humorous manner. I mean that if a twisted serial killer were to appear, point a revolver in my face, and ask me to do a pushup for his twisted pleasure, he would have to shoot me to put me out of misery as I struggle to descend halfway to the ground. My biceps/whatever-muscles-I-still-possess-in-my-arms are that useless. Not to mention this has already happened to me in middle school (instead of a killer with a gun, I faced a coach with the power to humiliate me in front of many-same sense of sick humor between the two). Oh, and my mom? She's just a BAMF.
And other things. Hammurabi's for my etymology paper. The other things are for my friends. It's my genius fault, really. I REALLY want to make a parallel between the hit show Friends and my, well, friends. But we soon realized that the pool of characters wasn't enough to cover all of our friends. So, we started collecting more characters from TV show, cartoons, movies, books. Maybe what we need is our own original series. Too bad we don't have an objective third person to use as a narration device. I, as challenged by one of the said friends, will simply serve as the writer for now (let's ignore all of my emotional, delusional. and hormonal baggage that all of my imaginary audience is familiar with from previous posts). Let's start off with the easy ones... _____________________________________________________________________________ Coach Coach - Nick Kent if you're well-versed in the world of sports blogs - as I like to call him, has been a class...
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