I could tell Brad was lying his ass off.

I could tell Brad was lying his ass off. He looked me right in the eye as he swore up and down that he didn't drive my Porsche to the PigglyWiggly. There were two telltale signs.

First, he had 8 bags of groceries & had spent only $12. Second, my Porsche was covered in pigshit. I said "Brad, why'd you have to take the Porsche? Why didn't you take the truck?"

But Brad just flexed his deltoids and said, "Oooooh yeah!" I hate Brad. But I am a psychologist, not a meat head. I will get my revenge on him through clever analysis.

My clever analysis involved prescribing Brad a reckless cocktail of medications that would unleash his feminine side. Brad returned a day later and said, "Doc, spot me." The dosage

is really beyond the what I am used to benching. So I need a spotter. None of the staff at my gym will do it because they are afraid they will get charged with practicing medicine.

I'm sorry, did I say "benching"? I meant to say "belching". No-one will spot me at the gym because they claim they've never heard anyone belch before, the prickly little pansies!

They can't handle gaseous belches on the weight bench. I change gyms & gym socks. I started my own version of Average Joe's called Normal Nancy's. I had no idea who Nancy was until

some girl named Nancy waltzed in and Remington Steeled me. Suddenly, I was her assistant with her getting all the glory and I doing all the work. The gym caught on though; I can't

Afford to pay my own membership there, so I now work out at home. I don't have to waste gas either. Now, I walk to the store and take the stairs. I eat sweet potatoes daily as well