It truly is a day to revere. It truly was a hollow-cast. Everywhere I could look: rivers of sweat drowning in testosterone; buckets of white, dead yet slightly warm, slimy and sluggish, deceivingly viscous, blood tinted, thighs and arms of adrenaline and pride. Yes. I remember the day like it was yesterday. And yet the memory is no less vague than an early morning dream. The battle of Ballstantinople vs Dicklantis; the battle that cried out to the souls of millions of brave warriors and their swords like a single mom-in-your-area-who-lives-2-miles-away calls for a young, hard penis to calm her needs; the battle that ran through time like a plague, stood strong like a tornado and shook thousands of empires like an earthquake; the battle that is revered like a forest fire in the hearts of all the men who faced the swords of their enemies up close, in their face, inches from their supple lips breathing the warm, innocent breath of fatigue; The Semenal Battle of Potency. 

Ballstantinople

    Are you a loser? No? Are you living a regular, peaceful, healthy life of a law abiding citizen; a friendly, baggy clothes wearing, white skinned male who respects women? Yes? Well, I'm sorry I had to break this to you this way, son, but you are loser.

You don't know it, but you are a sad, sore, pathetic than an insect, "I'm O.K with shits and scraps" loser.

But don't you worry, son. I, a testosterone high monster, will teach how to live life like a limo cruising through the satin polished, obsidian roads of  Las Vegas that will lead you to the throne of kingdom come.