I love NoGi! Especially when guys feel the need to grapple with no shirt on. It’s like sliding down the slip-n-slide of destiny towards purgatory. There’s nothing like heavy breathing, sweat-laden men, and close proximity to the wobbly bits. And then there’s my physique, svelte as I have become. I’ve managed to find a few pictures of me in NoGi attire for your viewing pleasure:
First up, the busted can of biscuits. This is what happens when I try to wear rash guards developed for normal people. At some point or another, a pasty white substance is going to come floating out of a crack. While you might not want to take a bite, I assure you I’ll always rise to the occasion. Get it? Rise. It’s a fucking biscuit. But I digress.
Next, we have a bag of nickels. This is what I looked like in my early days when I refused to grapple NoGi unless I had on a pair of sweats. Why? Because I’m sexier in sweats, and because the sweat is gross. Ironically, the sweats made me….well, sweat….which only served to double the amount of greasy goodness I had to wade through in each practice.
And then there’s the muffin top. This is what I look like when I wear spats. There’s just not enough structure in those cool looking octopus spats to contain my sexy, and therefore I come rushing out like a tsunami. Ride the waves, but please don’t take a bite out of crime. I know I look good but that shit hurts.
Now, I’ve lost almost 70 lbs, so don’t give me too much shit. Also, if you’re going to reply to this post with your wonder supplement or miracle diet, please kill yourself. I know what I need to do. Train. Eat clean. Have your mom home by 10. I got it. Now, chill out and ponder this wonderful image from the interwebs while I go sweat with the other fatties.