Wurtis15
06-29-2004, 11:42 AM
The alarm clock goes off, while I wait for my brain to catch up with the rest of my body, I get out of bed and give my best flex in the mirror. God, I rule. I get dressed, clean my room, clean the kitchen so my mother doesn't have to, then I eat a bowl of oatmeal and some eggs...power food, man's food. I get dressed for school, review my material, then head out the door.
I wave to my neighbor and pet his dog, ask him if he wants me to mow his lawn this weekend, and set a date. I hop in my 2001 Black Ford Ranger and go to class. I work my ass off, ace the test and go home, I eat some tuna and a steak. Is this what it means to be a man?
I don't lie, I don't put up with people's BS. I help out friends and family, co-workers, and even a stanger struggling to get the groceries into her car at the supermarket. I compliment a woman if she looks nice, I don't start fights...I end them. I eat like a man, and I act like a man, no slappy BS here. I try to live my life to the fullest, and do it all with a smile. I drink on the weekends, and show off for the ladies.
There is one time, when I don't act like a man. One time when I take all the bull**** that I deal with every day and funnel it into a rage...I become an animal. It's five o'clock and my eyebrows begin to turn down, and my mouth makes a snarl...half smile, half animal. I put on a wife-beater and some shorts and I run out to my car adreneline pumping and veins bulging. After the 5 minute drive to the gym, listening to some crazy rock music. I jump out of the truck and run into the gym, eyes wide and breathing heavy.
Theres no one in the gym but me, well let me rephrase...Theres noone worth mentioning in the gym but me. I pick up the heaviest weight I can handle and begin lifting the **** out of it, feeling pain in every fiber of the muscle I'm working. A short 80 minutes later, I pack my **** up and head home, exhausted and light-headed, waiting for the endorphins to kick in.
I take out my rage in the weight room, no bull**** talking to anyone, no nothing, just me and the weights and ****ing around. I came there for one reason, and it was to move some ****ing weight.
Afterwards, I go home, stretch out, relax, take a shower and go out with my friends and have a beer or two, maybe get laid, maybe not. This is my life. Am I a man? Or better yet... Are you a man?
I wave to my neighbor and pet his dog, ask him if he wants me to mow his lawn this weekend, and set a date. I hop in my 2001 Black Ford Ranger and go to class. I work my ass off, ace the test and go home, I eat some tuna and a steak. Is this what it means to be a man?
I don't lie, I don't put up with people's BS. I help out friends and family, co-workers, and even a stanger struggling to get the groceries into her car at the supermarket. I compliment a woman if she looks nice, I don't start fights...I end them. I eat like a man, and I act like a man, no slappy BS here. I try to live my life to the fullest, and do it all with a smile. I drink on the weekends, and show off for the ladies.
There is one time, when I don't act like a man. One time when I take all the bull**** that I deal with every day and funnel it into a rage...I become an animal. It's five o'clock and my eyebrows begin to turn down, and my mouth makes a snarl...half smile, half animal. I put on a wife-beater and some shorts and I run out to my car adreneline pumping and veins bulging. After the 5 minute drive to the gym, listening to some crazy rock music. I jump out of the truck and run into the gym, eyes wide and breathing heavy.
Theres no one in the gym but me, well let me rephrase...Theres noone worth mentioning in the gym but me. I pick up the heaviest weight I can handle and begin lifting the **** out of it, feeling pain in every fiber of the muscle I'm working. A short 80 minutes later, I pack my **** up and head home, exhausted and light-headed, waiting for the endorphins to kick in.
I take out my rage in the weight room, no bull**** talking to anyone, no nothing, just me and the weights and ****ing around. I came there for one reason, and it was to move some ****ing weight.
Afterwards, I go home, stretch out, relax, take a shower and go out with my friends and have a beer or two, maybe get laid, maybe not. This is my life. Am I a man? Or better yet... Are you a man?