It smells like fucking pussy in here!
You can’t domesticate a wild beast! Fuck you for trying!
That is the weakest shit I have heard all month and my roomate has a kid who won’t stop talking about “Five Sauce”. I don’t know what that is but I bet y’all could shed some light on it because apparently I’m surrounded by a bunch of glittery, gender-indeterminate tweens!
Balance is maintaining proper form so you don’t strain yourself. Balance is having the discipline to put goals before vaginas.
Yeah I know you love the bitch. Your kids too. Do you think they’ll really respect you for letting it go and resigning yourself to overtime hours at the death camp and lame sunday cook-outs?
Just ask Devil. That woman will be sucking off a drug addict with a neck tattoo before you’re even done with your morning commute.
I bet they’d look up to you even more if you were jacked like a fucking mosnter truck tho! You think little Timmy is going to say shit about missing try-outs when you can crush a watermelon between your viciously angular, rock hard man titties? Fuck no! He’ll be riding on your shoulders like Master Blaster while you shit all over the bully kid’s dad in front of his brood.
And forget about your wife fuckin aroud. She’ll need a court order to keep that dick out of her face. Literally.
Nah, son. There is no “balance” between life and training. Life is training. Every day is leg day. There is no Dana. There is only Zul.
If your family is getting in the way of your gains it’s time to decide what your real priority is. The warior monk life isn’t for everybody, family man.