Alright.

In all seriousness, I am very drunk. Last several posts have been as such. But THIS post, I shall not end with an all-caps declaration of sloppitude. I got that out of the way early. Drunk. Soooo what hath Andres wrought? I'll tell you. An ab. It's true. Danther has worked some magic, and I found an ab yester-eve. It was completely by accident. I was watching television, one of those shows in which three critique a dozen one-by-one at some skill set. Not sure which. It might have been sewing. No matter. I was squanched up in my gazelle-skinned sectional when I noticed that I'd placed my bottle of Saranac Black Forest on...a coaster??? Yes. A coaster. Not my stomach. My stomach, you see, has been the natural resting spot for my bottles of recreational (and occupational) beer for decades. Instinctively it was always the spot where I would rest my beers you see. But last night I put the beer down on a coaster. As if I knew something about my stomach. As if I knew that it could no longer accommodate a beverage vessel. So I lifted my shirt and gazed at what appeared to be the same troubling mound of formless sludge that has always comprised my torso. There, barely noticeable amidst the roiling fat. Was an ab. It's gone now, but I swear I saw it. Soon it shall be joined by five more, and they shall form a pack of sorts. I say!

It's grand. I've been hired to play the part of this military man, yet no one, seriously, no one, really trusts that I'll mold this ancient fartbag into shape in time. FUCK THEM ALL WITH A SPORK.

I shall and will and tally ho. Drunk.

I pormise NO TIME TO SPELL CHECK that my next post will be more coherent, and also, make more sense.