Need the kind of hot man on woman sensuality that only I can provide?

Ugh. Too much ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and shots of Goldschlager at the Raven last night. I need to watch out. K Good's little brother overdosed on the stuff after I handed him a humiliating loss at the Malaysian National Bodybuilding Championship. My ripped physique, style, grace, and mental focus were too much for him. But I do that to most men.

I can't think. Much has been weighing on me. My PR team and a phalanx of lawyers are working out strategy for my negotiations with high government officials in Maryland to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity; and how to import my image and style. Now this revelation that the Tae Bo Underground, led by the beautiful and mysterious Ms. Incognito Sweetie, might have it in for yours truly for some reason I know not. Sitting at my desk. I'm in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I take off my orange tinted Jean Lafonts and rub my temple. My next move. My next move. Hit the gym. That always clears my head.

I hit the gym. I change out of my Carla Behrle leather pants, apply some Bikini Bite to keep things in, and put on my tangerine posing banana hammock. Extra large. Spray on a little Hot Stuff to increase enhance my vascularity and slather on some Jan Tana posing gel to highlight my muscularity. The mirror does not lie -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus. Maintaining the specimen that I am is no easy task. Pecs, abs, and obliques are on the agenda today.

Good workout, but still I am unfocused. After I hit the showers I practice a Back Double Biceps and Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation in the mirror. Throw on my Carla Behrle leather pants and head home early. A few hot ladies on the Orange line to Farragut West. One special one, I give her my bicep flex swivel-wrist point and wink. I can tell she needs the kind of hot man on woman sensuality that only I can provide. But no. Not today. I've decided I need to get away. Weekend retreat to my island hideaway in Pulau Tinggi. Recharge my batteries. Devise my plan for taking out the Tae Bo Underground. Meditate. Tan naked.

On the way to National I call up my pilot and tell him to fuel the plane. We're going to Malaysia. It's been a rough week and I need a break. I'm not about being tired. Inner dialogue. Subtext. Poise. Dignity. Enhanced vascularity. No tan lines. Full frontal male nudity (mine). That is what I am about. And if you think you're pose-worthy, you know where to write.

He gets letters:

"YOU ARE EITHER SICK, LUNATIC OR MENTALLY CHALLENGED!!!!! what's with the f... leather pants and tangerine and orange pieces?????? riding the metro and having a private pilot????? you just DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE!!!! YOU ARE EXTREMELY WEIRD!!!!"