Dear Diary,
What is it about the weekend that makes me so happy to go to work on a Monday morning? No, seriously. Can you tell me? I love the weekends. I start looking forward to the next weekend on Sunday nights. It's kinda like Christmas. I start the countdown to the next one on December 26. But when it comes to eating right, the weekend is a muthaf***a and work seems to be my only escape. I try to surround myself with good foods at home, but the problem is that not everything there is good. I have limited will power and it wears thin at night. I still haven't even mentioned all of the activities that are all about grub. Dinners, parties, brunch. None of that crap at work. Just me and the road. Me and a bean burrito. Me and the... Ah s**t. I'm going to a sales conference today. Dinners, parties, brunch, snacks. I'm so screwed. I have to find time to work out. Even if I do the workouts that Michael Strahan does in some stupid commercial. I hate that gap toothed muthaf***a as much as I hate you. Speaking of muthaf***as and people that hate you, how's your dad? I mean he is literally a mother f***er. How is your dad the kama sutra and you are a piece of s**t?
PS. I hope they have a scale in my room or I could have some problems when I return. I need my feedback.
PSS. No I didn't say feed pack you fat muthaf***a. Clean out your ears.
PSSS. Can you hear me now?
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