beer + protein shakes = YOU KNOW THE ANSWER (I DIDN'T)
Here's the story.
I joined a new gym yesterday. It's just a block away from home and the trainers are very accommodating (no, not like that), a far cry from the snots of Fitness First in distant malls with their monthly fees that cost five times more. A nice surprise is that in spite this gym being just a quaint local scene, the people are friendly...and hot! Which is very weird coz they're probably my neighbors and I never knew, so mental note: get out more.
However at the same day my father spontaneously asked me to go fishing. If you're gay, it should prolly not be a surprise when I say a lack of common interests with our dads is, well, common. My dad and I are particularly in different universes: he loves driving cars and I love daydreaming in cars (I don't even drive--long story); in sports I love table tennis, badminton, volleyball and cheerdancing, and he loves, well, most everything else; he could watch Discovery and NatGeo repeats for hours, while I've watched Gilmore Girls a thousand times; he loves cocktails, and I love co...nah, that joke's too easy.
But the love of baiting a hook (dirty?), casting a supple fishing rod (dirty!), and tugging it (DIRTY!) along a wide expanse of water under the blazing heat just for the sake of a nifty nibble (DIR...alright enough) is one of those things we are in complete sync--well, minus the sexual innuendos (I hope). So of course I said yes. It was slightly weird though, coz the trip's primary purpose was to curry favors with my dad's special guests, a lawyer and a courtroom judge. You see the judge wanted to <insert most boringest details here> and the lawyer was like <more details> so my father agreed. Long story short, it was a successful outing altogether, as I caught two humongous fishes (each is 2 kilos and the size of a bodybuilder's calf), beating my dad (as always), and the judge even crowned me champion and new Fishing Idol. The celebration ended naturally with a party of beer and cooked fish.
I knew I had my first session at the new gym that evening (I workout nights) but refusing drinks from the generation ahead of you is disrespectful--might as well spit on ancestor's graves, yeah? All in all by the time the trip was over I downed four bottles of beer (and I hate beer). I wasn't at all tipsy, just a little light-headed, and I was so excited about the new gym prospect that I did not cancel my workout. So the minute I got home I changed into my gym attire, ran to the gym, and met them new people as I downed my protein shake, fully aware that the beer was still sloshing around in my stomach.
Predictably, as my workout went on my tummy acted out, and eventually I felt like puking my guts and I was sweating like crazy. I had to stop in the middle of my inclined chest press, one of my faves, arrgh. Suffice it to say, that was the end of my workout and the beginning of my rendezvous with Col. Sink, Gen. Bowl and the TP Army.
Moral of the story: Never again. Never, ever again.
I conclude this post by commemorating this event with this piece...alright that's a lie; I finished this a week ago but just forgot. Anyway this is a trade for bokep from y-gal and our Mr. Subject right here is his buffolicious OC Shichiro, about to do a military press in Socks Gym, hence his outfit and the background. Spot Me, That's an Order. (Seriously, though, is an order even necessary?) Final personal anecdote: I hate military presses, it's one of those exercises I find really painful to progress in, which overall is great coz as cliché as this may sound, pain IS gain.
Later guys. Remember to stay off beer and protein shakes within a two-hour period. And drugs.
