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After a bit of soul searching, preceded by rather a lot of ayahuasca in a Christopher Street loft, I’ve decided to radically restructure my tours.
I am simply part of the gym’s existence, like the water fountain and the ambient hip-hop music piped in through invisible speakers.
Time is money. Time flies. And therefore, the bus driver flies. Though side roads, through shortcuts, through worryingly narrow gaps.
At only $117,000 a pop, the Hellfire II™ is perfect for when you need to make a splash without splashing too much cash.
Qualifications: Ability to fire one-liners and innuendo, as well as sex appeal. You don’t follow rules, but you live by your own personal code.
Maybe you’re freaked out to think of accountants as sexual creatures. You want us always hunched over ledgers, never over your sweet, pliable body.
November 1980: I voted for Ford in '76, but I’m thinking Carter can take us into the Pac Man era. Ronald Reagan isn’t qualified and he’s embraced a racist campaign strategy.
Previously criticized Medicare-for-all as unaffordable. That's a hard "Michael." Announces "it's a JEEP day!" when the weather is nice. Solid "Mike."
The confirmation page for my gym hadn’t even loaded before I put out a group text to my closest friends telling them that I was a CrossFit guy now.
WW3: Climate change is getting a lot of heat right now. Pun intended! But no, we're not direct competitors.
Wow. If you’ve photoshopped with me before, you know I like big ol’ tushies. And, there he is. That’s a big ol’ tush.
It's just that you've brought too much of that raw, "I survived a war where they still used horses" spirit to your position here.