I woke up on my greasy, dirty, gross-ass shit brown couch today and realized that I would have been happier getting murdered in my sleep than facing another miserable day in my fucking useless life. So today is Saturday and I have a mammoth fucking pimple on my head. (I'm gross)
I didn't accomplish anything today. I think I tore my left tit off at the gym on Sunday. Because of this demoralizing physical setback I now am drowning my already shitty attitude in every possible form of obesity-inducing junk food that I can get my pasty, fat, sweaty hands on. My hands look like Jimmy Dean sausage patties with sausage links jutting out of them.
I'm a pile of shit.
Unfortunately I saw my face in the mirror today and because of this traumatic experience, I then stuffed myself with piles of food so I was barely able to take steady breaths as I drooled onto my fat stomach that was spilling over my soiled, smelly sweatpants.
I just took at break from writing because I had ordered a Stinger and needed to dump it down my chubby, unattractive grease-oozing face. A Stinger is a steak and chicken finger sub doused in barbecue sauce and blue cheese. Like I said, I'm fucking gross. I want to take a sharp knife and stab myself in my swollen, white gut and dig out all the hideous piles of cholesterol and fat that have entrenched themselves around my waist. Ugh. I'm near suicidal with self-loathing at this moment. Why couldn't I be victim on a home invasion and slaughtered by a pack of savages? 12 minutes until UFC 94 starts!
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