Title fight night.

Food guilt and endless morons.

Sweat, pain and shame;

the magnificent trifecta.

Rounds out the week nicely,

like a cold beer and a blowjob.

Nights are cold,

so a wise person never turns down company.


Come one, come all!

Joint the freak show!

Join the revolution!

It won’t be televised,

but we’ll tell our selves

that we put up one hell of a fight

and we won this one;

battle on the shores of Babylon.


Let’s pause

and slip into something more comfortable;

like a coma,

or a rhinestone gimp suit.

Get that weekend pump on,

we’re all gonna look savvy;

in the light of the smartphone blitz.

A fire that doesn’t burn.



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