Last night at sparring, I jammed my left big toe in a sparring match.  To celebrate the public resurrection of my obscene mad-libs (which I’d almost forgotten about), I will give you a chance to play with my quote.

     “Oh, son of a(n) (adjective), blistering, (noun) of an (adverb) (verb) elephant.”

     I went up for a front kick, and Greg blocked it with a double palm block.  Nice and solid.  No bend in the elbows of his oak-branch like arms.

     I don’t know how to say this without sounding like I have the hots for him (which I don’t), but the man is a solid, and very shapely wall of muscle.  I have numerous friends who would swoon in his path.  I am not one of them. (In both senses of the possible meaning…in that I would not swoon in his path, and in that I am not one of my friends.  I can be, in fact, my own worst enemy.  I’ve tried to get me killed, and I don’t forget stuff like that.)

     So, I’ll just sum up this story with: 

1)      No ladies, I checked for you , and he’s married w/children.  Besides, he’s right at the tippy-top of most of you-alls age range, and way beyond it for the rest of you.

2)      The arch of my left foot is very swollen, and I can wiggle my big toe, but not bend it.  In a nutshell, running is out, and I’m on severe diet as of today.

3)      My trips to the gym will be focusing on upper-body, ab-work, and stretching.  Grumble.  All the stuff I hate.  Life; lemons – sour lemonaid.