The Black Sheep
F FOL REE... LOW LIK S YO E T H U O E SM UT OF ELL TH COM AT MO NS.
Vol. 3, Issue 4
THE COLLEGE NEWSPAPER THAT'S ACTUALLY ABOUT COLLEGE
2/6/14 - 2/12/14
KROGHETTO (1980-2014) BY: CASSANDRA SHOUSE Kroghetto on Euclid has served us faithfully for 34 years. Three decades that saw four different presidents, countless national tragedies, a handful of wars, the invention of the smart phone, smart car and Smart House, a government shutdown, the Twinkie apocalypse, three National Championships, the legalization of gay marriage and marijuana, and a polar vortex. A strong manmade rock of mortar and glass, it’s stood like a beacon of fluorescent hope in the middle of Chevy Chase. Although the world and neighborhood around it has changed drastically, Kroghetto has been a constant through it all. So as it slowly slides its doors close one last time, let’s think for a moment about the grocery store we’ve grown to love and what we’ll grow to miss about our beloved Kroghetto. No longer will we experience the parking lot tango. An intense dance between cars, shopping carts, and pedestrians in an attempt to squeeze into one of the only available parking spots, a game that left us with frayed nerves, clinched buttholes, and a fleeting sense of valid accomplishment. When those late night/early morning munchies hit us, no longer will we be able to stumble like the living dead into its brightly lit aisles at whatever hour we please searching for sustenance. No longer will finding taquitos, frozen pizza, and chocolate milk come with familiarity and ease. Nor will we ever get to see fights break out amongst shoppers clamoring for the next self check-out. What a shame it is to know that we won’t ever have another front row seat to the Lexington Hunger Games in which a small, cantankerous old woman threatens to skin a tall, hefty 20-year-old alive for jumping ahead of her in line. A line with a beginning but no end, in a building that can’t say the same. Fall semesters will never be the same, as we will never be able to walk a brisk beeline towards the refrigerated beer and wine cooler aisle without having to slur at an attendant, “Where’s y’all’s beer at?” Let’s not forget that following morning, when Kroghetto took in our tired, our hungover, our miserable masses and gave us Gatorade and a rotisserie chicken. How will the new Mega Kroger treat us? Presumably leaving us to fend for ourselves in its cold, vast, and un-navigable bowels. Although the Kroghetto we’ve come to know as well as our own bodies will be bulldozed to oblivion, we still have these fond memories to share
UK CHEERLEADERS WIN 20th NATIONAL TITLE
IS THERE A CLONING CONSPIRACY? WE THINK SO.
with next year’s freshmen as we drink 40s on our porches and reminisce of these, our good ol’ days. We can only hope the Kroger: Optimus Prime edition that will take its place will be able to live up to the legacy Kroghetto is leaving behind. A legacy of yellow tag deals, cheap beer and even cheaper chasers, dim, easy-on-hangover lighting, 24-hour service, and friendly associates who held no judgment of a 23-year-old buying Lunchables, Icehouse, and Fruit Roll-Ups at 2:30 a.m. Our Kroghetto never had free Wi-Fi, a fireplace, gourmet bakery, or an
all-you-can-eat sushi bar, but it did have something — it had character and it had history — something this new, foreign one will lack. From here we can only move forward and try to honor the memory of Kroghetto the best we can. With this we say farewell to our Kroghetto. So long to a store where we have the aisle layout memorized and a clear vision of where our favorite foods are, even when our vision itself wasn’t clear. What a long, strange and hazy trip it’s been, friend.
VLADIMIR PUTIN’S (TOTALLY NOT) GAY OLYMPIC LETTERS
COMMONS STANK AND CAL’S MILLIONS, PERFECT GRADUATION GIFTS.
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A brief anecdote used at parties to best describe oneself. Lane’s biorama about the time he woke up in a closet covered in his own poop didn’t land him much luck with the ladies.
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DO YOU KNOW THE NAME OF THIS FAMOUS MEME? TWEET US @UKBLACKSHEEP - FIRST RIGHT ANSWER WINS A PRIZE!
TWEET US @UKBLACKSHEEP • FIRST RIGHT ANSWER WINS A PRIZE! LAST WEEK’S ANSWER: USC GAMECOCK
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“THERE'S SOMETHING MOVING IN THE MASH POTATOES” Found & Published by Jupiter Stevens The following is an excerpt from an assignment found on the ground outside of English 107: Introduction to Narrative Writing
also. Jenny might have read my mind when I got up, but maybe it was because I asked her to get up and get food too. Spooky days.
We walked into the cafeteria and I smelled meat which disgusted me because I have been a vegetarian ever since Jenny told me what “vegan” means. The smell of the meat was comforting though, because it reminded me of the Fourth of July. But sometimes I don't eat meat when it is the Fourth of July. Perhaps the Wild Card witch by the Wild Card slider had put a spell on [the] (me)at. Spooky days.
When the creepy old lady who was probably a witch gave me back my Wild Card after sliding it through the Wild Card slider, I walked away and found my friend Jenny. Jenny saw the old lady at the Wild Card slider too when she put her Wild Card through the Wild Card slider. She was spooked too. Spooky days.
When I turned from the salad bar and saw Jenny, she looked scared. Jenny turned to me and her eyes were open. Wide. I was scared. Spooked. I felt my hands begin to sweat. Jenny turned to me and looked me in the eye. Frightened. Jenny turned and said, “There's something moving in the mash potatoes.”
I stood in line and I slid my Wild Card through the Wild Card slider like any other day at Ovid Hall. But of course, this day was not like any other day at Ovid Hall. It was a spooky day.
Jenny had been my friend since high school, when we went to high school together. They did not have Wild Cards or Wild Card sliders there. High school was a scary place for a teenager. Almost, spooky. Then me and Jenny went to find a table. We went and found a table. Jenny asked me how I was and I lied and told her I wasn't scared of the old witch at the Wild Card slider where I slid my Wild Card. Jenny said she was a virgin too. I got up from the table to go get food in the cafeteria and Jenny got up and got food at the cafeteria with me
LOVER OF WORD MISUSE FOUND LITERALLY DEAD IN PATTERSON HALL By: Brendan A report issued by the Fayette Count y Coroner ’s O ffice confirmed that Aaron Block, a University of Illinois freshman and a lover of word misuse, literally died from fever on Tuesday, February 4. He was nineteen years old. Fayette County Coroner Duane Northrup commented on the death in a press conference, claiming, “the death is tragic—to me it seems like no one would help this kid.” Those that knew Block agreed with the coroner’s assessment; suitemate Jason Gertlestein claimed that Block “seemed pretty sick last week, but when he said he ‘literally felt like [he was] dying,’ I thought it was, like, another exaggeration of his, you know?” Gertlestein continued, “Dude, you did not literally drink 60 beers in a night, you’d be deader than you are now.”
Though mourning, Block’s parents also spoke with The Black Sheep regarding their son’s untimely death. “We’re heartbroken,” Karen Block of Louisville, Kentucky lamented, “but we understand why those around him didn’t think much of it. When he was a teen, he’d always make a big deal out of things, ‘Mom, I’m literally laughing my ass off over here,’ or ‘I’m pretty sure Kelsey literally got hit in the face with a shovel as a baby.’” After recovering from
a heartbreaking sob, Mrs. Block noted, “His ass never fell off or nothin’, and Kelsey-- she just had an acne problem.” In response to the tragedy the University of Kentucky English Department has issued a statement: “Maybe all of you should take us seriously. How about a little more funding over here? Our building is literally one of the shittiest buildings on campus.”
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UK CHEERLEADERS WIN 20th NATIONAL TITLE CONFIRM CLONING CONSPIRACY BY: TAYLOR CARDEN This month, the UK cheerleading team brought home their twentieth National Championship title. Twenty National Titles is unprecedented, and while it gives UK cheerleaders and their fans a reason to do celebratory backflips, it makes others suspicious, suspicious that the UK Cheer squad is a team of clones. And as of last week, those suspicions were legitimized when Dr. Frankel Hoppingsburg, the controversial science figurehead in cloning experimentation and professor of genetics at UK, claimed that this year’s cheer championship was no one’s achievement but his own. Dr. Hoppingsburg says that the UK cheer team you see every game kicking and chanting at halftime was actually spawned from a petri dish. “We started this project, nicknamed ‘Bring it On,’ after the squad won its first championship in 1985,” says Hop-
pingsburg. “We wanted to capture the DNA of the original champions, then duplicate and manipulate them to breed the best cheerleaders in the world. And although I feel no need to, I can’t stress enough that there was no sexual predisposition to starting this research. I could’ve cloned anything, I cloned cheerleaders, young, supple cheerleaders… get over it.” When asked directly about who they were and where they came from, the UK cheerleaders all responded in unison, “We! Have! No! Comment!” Each one then did a backwards round off handspring combo and formed a human pyramid. As the pyramid spun in a circle, they all proceeded to simultaneously give the middle finger to our The Black Sheep reporter. According to Dr. Hoppingsburg, there were definite successes and failures with the project. “Our biggest success was engineering all the girls to be tiny. We structured their bodies
to be lightweight, aerodynamic, and flexible. They’re like springy little birds. SexyWildcat birds. Birdy sexy, springy, Wildcats,” he trailed off. But the biggest failure of the project? “When you program the cheerleaders’ DNA primarily around cheer, it causes the brain to ‘forget things’ elsewhere. For example, this latest batch of cheer clones doesn’t know how to communicate without chanting,” says Dr. Hoppingsburg. “They lost the basic speaking gene somewhere along the way, and one forgot how to spell Cats.” Hoppingsburg says that they sometimes also forget how to tie their shoes, find their way to Whitehall, or in most dire cases, breathe. According to Hoppinsburg their DNA is so wired for cheerleading, the professor worries that the next squad currently in progress, Bring It On 21.0, will only know how to cheer, and nothing else. “They’ll only know how to stunt, flip,
cheer, and look good in uniform. I’m afraid they’ll come back springing out of their cloning tubes and immediately fall suffocating to the floor… we’ll have to teach them how to walk, blink, flush a toilet and hate the Cardinals… and love…” Hoppinsburg said, staring distantly out a nearby window. Reagan Stanley, a cheerleading conspiracy theorist and author of Cheerleaders: Alien Intelligence, Neo-Nazism and What the Government Doesn’t Want You To Know, feels vindicated. “Of course the UK cheerleaders are clones!” says Stanley. “They’ve tried to throw us off the scent by getting second place a few times over the years, but I knew that was just a part of the cover-up.” Stanley says that there might be more to this story than clones for the sake of a cheer championship. “Next Hoppingsburg will be genetically
engineering underground agents of organized crime, or an army of cheerleading hit men out to high-kick their way into a new world order! Something about that guy… he just rubs me the wrong way.” UK Students had mixed reactions when they learned the cheer squad was composed of genetic recreations. Derek Daviess, a sophomore, asked, “Do you think they’d genetically engineer one of them to want to sleep with me?”
Sandra Braun, a senior, felt that it was a disgrace to Wildcat sports. “This is cheating! Like, where was Hoppinsburg when Anthony Davis was conceived? He could have made Davis’ unibrow fuller and more direct. Wait, do you think the Harris twins are… no, no way!” Hoppingsburg has been tight-lipped about whether or not there is a UK basketball cloning project currently underway. However, off record… there is.
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ON THE STREETS WHAT BODY PART WOULD YOU LEAST WANT RUBBED IN YOUR FACE? h o m o re Rachel, Sop
“An armpit would be terrible.”
r Becca, Junio
man Brian, Fresh
REASONS UK WILL CANCEL CLASS BY: LUCAS TROUXELL
Obviously UK doesn’t turn down for temperatures reaching penguin-ballsack low, so here at The Black Sheep we have compiled a list of the top 10 reasons UK would cancel classes. 10.) Coach Cal says so: If he needed some extra practice time to get a W over the Gators, Capiluto would have no problem canceling classes for every student, thus avoiding heat from the NCAA about giving the athletes special benefits. 9.) The foot stabber stabs outside of Willy T: If the foot stabber’s hatred of exposed feet were uncontained and spread all around campus, UK might have to consider shutting the place down. Losing toes to frostbite they’ll risk, but losing toes to an Ovid’s butter knife is another story. 8.) Commons’ stank spreads: If that smell somehow seeped through the air vents and spread its way throughout campus, UK would either have to shut down the school or pass out gas masks.
UNIVERSITY CANDLES BY: REBECCA ANDERSON As if the bookstore didn’t have enough useless University of Kentucky shit for your parents to waste their money on, UK has begun their own line of scented candles. That musty fabric softener scent in your dorm laundry room, or the combination of mud, sweat, and grass that forms the familiar scent of the Johnson Center Fields are some of the only scents that truly capture the feeling of campus — but are ones that Yankee candle would never consider. That being said, here are few more UK specialty candles the bookstore and Kennedy’s are getting ready to put on the shelves. and would allow your parents to really bring a piece of UK home with them. Commons’ Stank: Whether you were regular South Campus attendee, or just stopped by on the through and through after tailgating at the bowl, every Wildcat has experienced the smell of Commons. This candle perfectly captures the curious scent of stale chicken quesadillas and jalapeno poppers that were prepared by the also-funky-foreign exchange kid from your CIS class. This is a particularly strong scent, so once the candle is lit the surrounding area will forever contain the Commons’ stank. Kappa Sigma Second Floor Restroom: Dynamic in nature, this candle, much like the Kappa Sigma bathroom, can be considered more of a wildcard. The scent itself captures the spirit of many past and future pregames, while also containing hints of beer, cigarette smoke, throw up, and Old Spice. One never knows exactly what the actual smell will be, but that’s the beauty behind this candle. With this candle, you’ll find
yourself never in fear of your apartment being ruined and your roommate bitching you out. Just light the candle, crack open a Natty Light by yourself, and get this party started.
7.) Louisville invasion: Louisville fans throwing up their infamous loser “L” sign would start to spread loser-itis throughout campus. Capiluto wouldn’t want a bunch of dirty birds running around here looking like eye sores and dirtying the place up, so he’d shut it down until their inferiority sets in and they leave. 6.) A football win: We usually don’t write fiction, but in a world where this could happen, classes would most definitely be canceled. UK students and Lexington residents alike wouldn’t know how to act. Whitehall would be demolished in a State Street frenzy. 5.) Starbucks in the Student Center closing down: A typical day in the life of a white girl at UK consists of waking up, putting on yoga pants, spirit jersey, and Barbie riding boots. Most importantly, before going to class they pick up a Grande Caramel Apple Spice Latte. Plot twist, Starbucks is closed. If this step is omitted from their routine the white girl will rage, leaving every living creature on campus as vulnerable as a seal during shark week. 4.) Cane’s sauce cooking gone wrong: If this campus doesn’t run on coffee, it runs on Cane’s sauce. And if you though coffee-less white girls were dangerous, think about what would happen to this campus if drunk people couldn’t get their Cane’s sauce. Capiluto would have to send an emergency text alert before the weekend, and cancel school until Cane’s got back on track.
Coach Cal’s Millions: This candle allows you to experience the smell of something most of us don’t encounter often: money. Pull out your horoscope lighter and allow yourself to be whisked away into a fantasyland filled with Range Rovers, mansions, and the Harrison twins’ groupies. On a date? Light this baby when you bring that hottie home and she’ll think you’ve got a Calipari-sized pile of money in your closet — a Calipari-sized pile of money you could have sex on. Basement Chem Lab: Who doesn’t love the smell of hydrochloric acid in the morning? Nothing will make you more grateful for those three major changes than reliving the scent of freshman year Chem lab. Sodium hydroxide, lab notebook carbon paper, and the left over lo mien from your T.A.’s lunch are all combined to create a candle unlike any other. Side effects include: feeling(s) of anxiety, nausea, panic, and the need to put on protective eyewear. In extreme cases, some individuals experienced nightmares that involved yelling, Dr. French, and eternity. For $27.99, Yankee Candle lets you experience all the fresh linen glory that your Wildcat heart desires. However, the last time the scent of fresh linen was radiating anywhere on campus was, well, never. That’s why we’re excited for University Candles to persuade your parents to bring a real (expensive) piece of UK home with them.
3.) Custodial strike: Spring rush is approaching, which means a campus-wide week-long bender is upon us. This makes just about everyone happy except the South Campus janitors. This year they could refuse to clean up after our sloppy asses, leaving UK with no choice but to cancel classes due to insufficient living conditions for our South Campus brethren. 2.) Kentucky loses another road game: If we lose one more away game to an inferior team, the student body is likely to turn on the players. Basketball players are this campus’ greatest treasure, so by canceling class hopefully students would just stay home and just day drink about it. 1.) Debt ceiling crash: When the university makes unnecessary expenses, like a multi-million dollar Wildcat statue with no other value outside a drunken photo op, this makes keeping the lights on in classrooms too much of an expense. We could either see Capiluto peddling bootleg Adderall for extra cash, or cancelling classes for once. We would tell you to keep dreaming about the day UK decides to cancel, or even delay classes, but you’re probably busy walking in the frigid cold to campus at 8 a.m.
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THE BLACK SHEEP DISCOVERS VLADIMIR PUTINâ€™S
GAY OLYMPIC LETTERS
You would think that with the general sense of homophobia in Russia, the leaders of the stone cold motherland would all be straight as arrows. Well, you thought wrong. A team of elite investigators here at The Black Sheep has uncovered what might possibly be the document leak of the century. Prime Minister Vladimir Putin has written several e-mails to Olympic Nations-- discourses that are teeming with sexual language and homosexual urges. It appears that Putin, a longtime opponent of gay rights, may actually be a member of the homosexual community himself. Included are five missives straight from the desk of the Kremlin, revealing a Prime Minister with some underlying urges. By Mitchell Barrett
MY SWEETEST AUSTRALIANS,
Keep letter secret, for we would not want to make what you call “American Melting Pot.” Although sometimes, yes, I pretend to no like you, know that it is nothing less than truth when I say that my Motherland throbs for you. In the words of your fabulous Pointer Sisters, “I’m so excited”. Excited for you to come to my country, excited for you to bring your free spirit to my land, and excited for you to slide your bodies on my soft Russian snow.
Croikey my comrades, it is Vladimir here. I want to wish you safe travels to Sochi. I am sorry about your friend Steve Irwin. I do understand the actions of the manta ray that took his life, for I would also lay my barb through his chest.
I see your popular restaurant of sandwiches, Subway, has been giving heavy sponsorship to your athletes. Know that I would let Apolo Ono taste my $5 Footlong, even if promotion is over. Also,your hockey team is looking quite excellent; big strong men with fancy uniforms and long sticks. Their camaraderie is impressive, and I am green with jealous rage when I see group hug on ice rink. Hope new miracle on ice happen, and that miracle involve me being ice.
Your climate is hot, it reminds me of Soviet days as farm boy. We would work long hot days cutting wheat with sickles, wiping sweat off our brow. Then we would all shower together, our young bodies frolicking under the cool water. Our eyes would innocently explore one another, hoping hands to do the same.
Want to know why I stole Robert Kraft’s Super Bowl ring? Because it fits perfectly, and I do not mean on my hand.
Anyway, that is beside point. I would like to give a special warm welcome to your men’s snowboarding team. Flexible young boys with long flowing hair and rosy cheeks. More of what world needs right now, no? Whether or not they win medal, they have already won my heart.
Tickle my pickle with a hammer and sickle, Vladimir Putin
You make my “down under” strong, Vladimir Putin
HELLO THERE JAMACIA, I have been watching Cool Runnings every day for past two weeks. I am impressed. The skin of your African athletes will make a nice contrast to Sochi’s white winter snow. I have many a question about your bobsled team. Do you enjoy being close together in that speeding metal tube? Do you lie down on top of each other? Chest on chest? Eye to eye? Or do you go back to back? The mystery excites me. Your presence will bring diversity to my winter games. I hear you like to smoke the marijuana. Maybe we can all take some time off competition and do a baking of clams in one of my saunas. I hear that there is an exhilarating high from absorbing the smoke through the naked skin. On a more serious note, I must ask of you to send a nude photo of each of your athletes, for it is necessary in order to register for my Olympic games. Nothing personal. I hope you come to my motherland and receive everything you wish for. Stroke my dreadlock, Vladimir Putin
TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE,
Cómo estás? It is your old friend Vladimir here. I understand that it is summer in your beautiful country. Are you all sweaty? I hope so. I am so very excited for you to compete in my Winter Olympic games. I wish you safe travels.
Bonjour France. How you say, long time no see? Your Eiffel Tower is looking bigger and stronger than ever. I cannot wait for your athletes to arrive in Sochi for the Olympics. I would like to spend some time with your men’s figure skating team. Study their form, discover their art. If they would like, we could indulge in croissants and wine. I have always been curious as to how “French kissing” works. What does this mean? Show me.
In particular, I would like to wish Sebastiano Gastaldi, your slalom skiing athlete, good luck. Buena suerte, mi amor. Will your Latin flavor bring excitement to my mountains? Yes. Are your legs strong from months of practice? I hope so. Do you do that thing where you roll your R’s? I have many a burning question for you. Your rugged looks and athletic prowess start burning fire in my soul. I would like to take a chairlift ride with you and discuss your skiing strategy. Don’t worry, I will tell nobody. Maybe then I can help you stretch before your competition. I hear you are having groin trouble, and I think a pair of strong Russian hands will fix you. Take me south of your equator, Vladimir Putin
Maybe I can give your team a little show. I will paint my body like a mime. Dance for you. Act out how I feel. Your country is a free-spirited land, and while that may worry me, it also excites me. If any of your male athletes need to talk, text me at 1-800-KGB-DICK. I also am quite the Snapchatter. My cellular camera has a keen eye for my strong body. I see London, I see France, strip me down to my underpants, Vladimir Putin
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MASH Participant Marries John Stamos, Lives in Shack By: Brendan “I was just goofing around with my roommate, Beth, and we were playing that stupid MASH game from high school,” Jamie Quellton remembers, “when there was this knock on my door.” Six whirlwind weeks later and the anthropology junior was tying the knot with TV star John Stamos in front of family and friends on Maui. “I dunno, I guess I’m pretty lucky,” Jamie says. “Beth and I were just throwing ‘90s sitcom characters out there and he made the cut. Could be worse, I was almost stuck with Dave Coulier.” Still, there’s trouble in paradise. “For some reason John chooses to live in this mud hut off of an unmarked dirt road in southern New Mexico; it’s really weird,” notes Quellton. “The game said I’d get a shack, but I thought, you know, John Stamos is rich, so it’d be like, a mansion that’s smaller than other mansions. Nope. Maybe I’ll get some new blinds to spruce the place up or something.” The game, most often played by schoolchildren, also predicted the couple would drive a magenta fire truck, celebrate their first anniversary in “Poopsville,” and adopt a bantha as a pet. To Quellton, that isn’t even the worst of it. “That goddamn game said we were going to end up with twenty-six kids! Twenty-six! Listen, my vagina isn’t the Grand Canyon.” A look of resignation sets on her face as Jamie stares into the distance, “My gynecologist says I’m infertile, though. I sure hope she’s right.”
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Student Vows to Start Feeling Bad About Skipping Leg Day By Scotty G.
France. No one gives a shit about calf muscles.”
Student Richard Ryan cares about nothing more than getting swole. He’s less concerned with a good balance of muscles, and more focused on outward appearance. Although he has always made time every day to visit the gym and sculpt his guns, this student’s New Year’s resolution has pushed him to step up his game a bit.
Doctors have told Ryan that he suffers from a condition known as “you-look-like-a-goddamn-funnel syndrome,” meaning the large, bulky muscles on the top half of Ryan’s body look really effing silly compared to his skinny and girlish lower half. Doctors are also surprised Ryan doesn’t constantly topple over because he is so top heavy. The recent diagnosis has opened Ryan’s eyes to the error of his ways.
Ryan had this to say: “You know, last semester I would always skip leg day. Let’s be honest, I’m not an athlete. I’ll never make it on the football team as a walk on. Who’s got two thumbs and doesn’t care about functional strength? Every girl I’ve ever met. Working out is all about vanity muscles. I exclusively work my biceps, triceps, abs and cheekbones. This isn’t 18th century
Ryan concluded, “The doc made it abundantly clear that I had to start mixing in some leg days into my workout routine. Here’s the thing: I know I’m still just gonna skip leg day, but I’ll at least promise to feel bad about it. Dude, I don’t even know how those leg machines work!”
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