You just sealed the deal: part deux

Yup, we got another one. Call 'im in.

I'll make this short and sweet. In your mind, I think you think you're being subtle. I'm here to tell you you're dead wrong.

For some inexplicable reason, you and your pals were outside shirtless chattin it up like schoolgirls. I hate to say that the one guy who doesn't have his shirt off is the one with the obviously less striking physique. Yet he has the right idea.

Believe it or not, I don't care that you spend the most of your off-time pumpin' those guns. It's the classic I'll Build Muscles to Make Up for My HumDrum Personality method. And I have to say this method usually fails. And to be less discreet, I think the male equivalent of "butterface" applies here. Again, not discreet, but still the truth.

It sucks how quickly I had to take your name down in my mental book of Douche. Indeed, the simplest act will do. That includes the one move you pulled where you had to walk inside before you could coyly put your shirt back on. I'm amazed you actually did. But still. Not subtle.

You just sealed the deal

Well aren't you an adonis to behold.

I literally spotted you a mile away. Saw you jogging from beyond the hazy heat waves and thought, I know this guy. Ya know how sometimes you might think "I bet that's...." when you see a person approaching. The thing is it was your douchiness that alerted me to your true identity. I sensed it before I even saw your face. That's saying something. Showin off those pecs like nobody's business. The ones that you seem to be cultivating into "male boobage" status.

With the risk of compromising anominity, I'm afraid your name bothers me too. I won't say what it is since word could get out that you've been written about because, well, everyone reads this blog. Let's just say it rhymes with "omen." Fitting. And it could describe a citizen of a certain city in a boot-shaped country. Like a cowboy boot.

Not that I wasn't sure of it before, but bad news is I now have an airtight case against you, D. Better luck next time. I mean, this whole "see ya, shirt!" craze is getting out of hand.