I am Spartacus.
I punched a tiger.
I ate a penguin.
I put my face in the lasagna.
I wrote my name on my arms so people would yell “DJ!” as I ran by.
I drew a penis on my forehead so people would yell, “Huh???” as I ran by.
I grabbed your boyfriend’s ass.
I head-butted your mom.
I jumped on the bed so hard I bonked my head on the ceiling fan.
I bloodied my socks.
I spun in circles until I started walking funny.
I ate every leftover in the fridge, including the capers and egg carton.
I scraped the salt from my body and put it in the restaurant shaker.
I turned my pee orange.
I walked up to Scott Brown and gave him a high five, then punched him in the scrote.
I refused to wear a watch.
I did a booty-dance with the medal-distribution people.
I stopped at mile 24, pointed at my left knee, and told it that it was MY BITCH NOW.
I came home and showered and scrunched my hair until it was Texas-pageant-mom big.
I licked my medal.
Friends, I ran a 3:39 with minimal training and moderate effort. Ms. Physical-therapist-to-the-stars Chilli is getting 5 dozen cookies. You all are getting a fist-punch-to-the-air at the MacBook cam (which is not on, suckahs).
What a long, strange journey it has been.
*raises fists, punches air, juggles pillows*