In honor of Michael Jackson's nose challenged this last week to endure fifty sold out shows in London (yep, fifty), I'm looking for a printer that'll do a limited run of the above Jacksons tee. Yep, the whole gang is there and look at Michael's beautiful nose when it, well, uh...when it existed. And that glorious afro. Dude was holding it down in a hard way, no doubt. I'm shopping it out to any printer that'll give me a run of fiddy shirts all on white in varying sizes...front only.Gold's Gym turns into a prison yard after 9PM. I mean, it gets mad hood during that last hour. There'll be one dude on a machine and then ten other dudes around him talking. Like only 10% of the people there during that hour are committed to fitness. The other 90% are just mad dogging each other. Not only that, I've simply had it with all the dudes checking themselves out in the mirror. There was a dude last night that was walking back in forth in front of the mirror bobbing his head to his music and flexing to himself. Dude looked to be my age and I just kept thinking, "where did this guy go wrong coming up that he finds it necessary to stare at his stupid tribal art tattoo in a long mirror at the gym for minutes at a time?" I like working out with the old men. That are just stick to the raquetball courts.
Considering taking up handball.
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