I have frostbite on my cock

I went to the gym last night. I like going to the gym on a Friday night. You can be pretty sure that everyone who chooses to work out at 10pm on a Friday probably doesn't have any friends. And there's kind of a tacit understanding between us - a brief smile here, a nod there - that we're all losers in this together. Our lack of social skills has forced us deep into enemy territory, and we can only escape by doing an hour on the cross-trainer. Or something.

But hey, what else is there to do on a Friday? Society says the best way to pass an evening is to down 10 pints of Stella and then be sick on somebody else's face. No thanks, when I want to be sick on somebody's face, I shall do it in my own time, and probably whilst wearing a PVC catsuit. But that's another story...

Running back it was so cold I ended up with frostbite in ALL my extremities. When I say "ALL" my extremities, I am actually referring to my cock. On reflection, perhaps I should not have left it dangling outside my running shorts, but I find I run faster when I am chasing traumatised women around the park at night. Before you get all shocked, remember that they clearly enjoy this game, otherwise why would they be out in the park at night? It makes sense.

In an evolutionary arms race the prey must run faster than its predator. As Richard Dawkins pointed out, the hare is running for its life, whilst the fox is only running for its dinner. Alas, this rule also seems to apply to perverts and their victims. But at least I get a good workout.