Pulled pork in the oven. Roasted chicken still to come.
I’m gonna start going for runs with rocks in my hands so that the next time some fucking sloppy motherfucker dickbag yells, “Wassup!” or “Looking good!” or “Don’t run away from me!” from his fucking car while I am sweaty and red faced and tryin’ to get my workout on, I can turn around and chuck that shit through his shitty fucking car’s dirty windshield before running away.
Why can’t fucking jerks just let me fuckin’ crush this 5k like any other person? That’s it, fuckers… I’m gettin’ militant.