Look how responsible you are! You're the Steve Jobs of no strings attached labor. Some day a ghostwriter will write your autobiography, but for now you pack your laptop and headphones and head to the coffee shop a few blocks away. It's busy, almost packed to the brim with people who have nowhere better to go. But don't worry! Your lucky table is still available! You set your stuff down and order the cheapest thing on the menu, and get to it. Your laptop flips on, your headphones click in, your fingers move almost on their own. You take a sip of the junior coffee and get ready to work in that spot for the next five hours.
Uh-oh. You look up and make eye contact with the barista. He's onto your freeloading plan and is being really pissy about it. He has an ICP tattoo on his forearm. It doesn't mean anything, but it's really unfortunate looking.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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