I was joined by the Punker Model Writer Chick.
“I just turned 21 today. It’s my birthday. I couldn’t possibly have a more depressing self-hating, degrading, horrific experience than to spend my birthday with you. This is an absolute low point. It was either suicide or spend the day with the filthy, old, decrepit, ugly, ghastly, freakish, smelly, creepy, ancient Botendaddy… did I say ugly? Yet tall, lean, tanned, six-pack abs, ginormous with original hair. Let’s run, then let’s f@&$. It’s my birthday.”
I hadn’t listened to a single word she said. Because I’m a man. She wore a sports bra and tiny runners’ speedos. I was staring at the jewel in her muscular girlie belly.
“You’re young, you can still have a life. Meet a nice young guy. You just hang out with me so you can avoid life. By the way, I’m barely under BMI normal. I’ve been eating almost exclusively fruits and vegetables.”
We ran as hard as we could but the uphill was just enough to have ‘sloawne’ me down. 8:49 first mile. We ran through the trail tunnel and hit two miles around 18:42. We had a shot at a sub-30 minute 5k.
“You pretentious piece of dogshit! You crypt-keeper, Mr. Burns, Frankenstein. You, (for some reason not wearing a diaper today) diaper-wearing putrid swamp creature! To think I let you… oh my god the smell of it… defile me! Oh god yes! I yearn for you tragically. I love you against all reason. There I said it. I’m madly in love with you. So sue me.”
We hit four miles around 39:20. Not bad.
“Listen. I apologize. Now let’s go back into the woods and f@&$. You owe me, it’s my birthday!”
“Hazlenut Coffe with Bailey’s?”
Peace be the Botendaddy