I work out a lot but I do not like it. Ya

I work out a lot but I do not like it. Ya know that guy that you see at the gym and you say, "Wow! that guy is HUGE!" Well, that is not me, I don't even like that guy. I do like w

impy little guys I can carry under my arms like folding chairs. There's some doing [snicker] cardio. "What is up you absolute dorks," I asked. But I goofed; these were Track Guys.

The Track Guys turned to me in unison. "You thought us easy pickings," they said. Panicked, I ran the hall. If I could lead them to the bathroom, I might still have a chance...

I look around and spot a window. I decide to climb out of it, failing to notice the fact that the security personnel have already gathered underneath, catching me as I fell out.

They were trying to figure out what to do with me when the first explosion took out the main gate. They scrambled away but not before the sergeant had me locked up in an office.

I looked around for anything useful. A med pack here, some MREs on the table, and ooo, what's this? A remote detonator! That'll come in handy. Now to find a way out of this office.

An explosion later and I stood blackened and charred in the gaping hole leading to the board room: "Renson! It's about time you showed up with the grub!" thundered my boss. I doled

The boss had a weird feeling about it. I analyzed the wreck that I had done in my head enough to cause a mental explosion

So, I went to grab a cake and two coffees for us. I wanted to make up for what I had done, but it was a bad idea.

Instead, I grabbed a cooze and two boobies for the two of us—from the waitress. How was I to know that was a mistake? After all, the waitress said she would be “taking care of us."