Two days ago I bought the smallest pair of pants I’ve worn since before I started playing football. Take note that I said smallest, not skinniest, pants. I will never wear skinny pants! And not just because I have legs like muscled tree trunks. It feels weird to have gone down 12 pant sizes in four years, and to have gone down one size in a little short of a month. Especially since I have done almost nothing to lose weight. I walk a hell of a lot more than I have in a while, and probably do more general exercise than before. But the goal wasn’t to lose weight, it was to help me fucking sleep. The weird thing is I’ve only lost five pounds since the last time I weighed myself, probably six months ago, but I’m looking a lot different. I’m still bald, and strangely ok with that finally, still have a scarred up face that looks like a bearded child, but whatever. I’m pretty hip, even though I refuse to wear hipster dufus skinny jeans. I’m also pretty fucking hot and you need to recognize this!

(I’m trying to take a break from my more lengthy, soul searching, posts.)

Crotch Masterson, your purveyor of unparalleled pleasures.


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