the arms race

so terry's put a new picture up on his friendster profile (go see for yourself) that makes his arms look like he should be holding up the world instead of doing cancer research (that is what you do, right t-dog?). i've gotten several opinions--hilary and george didn't so much give me an opinion as they just drooled, but kel insists that his arms only look so gargantuan because they're all squished up on the back of a chair. even squished, terry's apparently gotten himself some big ol' arms.

and since t-dog's gonna be here a week from sunday, big arms and all, it's made me feel really guilty for not going to the gym this week. i'm like, must...grow...big...arms...now. of course, if i haven't grown big arms in the last two years that i've been working out five (ok so maybe four) times a week, they're not going to just magically pop up before the eleventh of december. but a fag can dream, can't he?

hilary said, "oh, so this is a competition all of a sudden?" "of course it's a competition," i said. ok, so not really. the competition was lost when terry ran his first marathon, before i even knew him. terry works out because he wants to be healthy and loves doing things like running 26.2 miles, something i will never in a million years understand. i work out because i'm vain, and i decided a couple of years ago that as i get older my body has to get better and better. down goes the face, up goes the body. does that sound absolutely sick? yes it does. but you try being an urbanite fag and tell me you don't come to the same conclusion.

excuse me, i have to get to the gym.