Oh how the lord has bestowed upon me a future so filled with promise, so overflowing is my cup that I can do naught but raise my hands on high and sing the praises of the king of kings.
I will tread lightly until the appointed hour, stirring neither man nor beast from childs slumber, then with a wave of my hand will I unleash a conflagration so cruel, so malevolent, that the very foundations of all that men hold true will crumble as I pass. The maelstrom I conjur from beyond the voices of hope or reason will lay low the mighty pillars and split the pages from time immemorial in the shattered glass of rolling brimstone.
Beware the Smoove, crusher of hopes, render of worlds.
Yes, it has finally come to pass that The Vest has accepted my gift of a wee training session at the gym.
Tomorrow.
It's leg day.
A hush falls over the eastern front....