Mr. Banana Hammock folds his laundry

Home today. Home in my Adams Morgan compound. Just finished with laundry and now am watching college football. Me? I'm not wearing a stitch. I just took a shower and I'm air drying while I fold my laundry. I'm admiring myself in the wall mirror -- total fitness and power, ripped definition, grace, dignity, glutes so tight they can bend iron rebar into oragami swan shapes.

Anyway, I am folding my laundry. Carla Behrle leather pants. Check. No shirt. Check. Check. Lime green banana hammock. Check. Hot pink banana hammock. Check. Grey Armani suit. Check.

The ladies of the Orange line and craigslist will have to live without my superior version of man on woman sensuality, at least for a couple of days. Raw animal power, unbridled sexuality, double jointed hips, glutes so tight they can bend iron rebar into oragami swan shapes. I've got Monday off, a 3-day weekend, and no need to commute.