Working out. Looking good. 400 posts. That is what I am about.

Balmy morning. I am in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Leaving my Adams Morgan compound at 8AM. I’m running late for my morning meeting with high government officials. My meeting with high government officials at NASA on whether NASA should take my image and style into outer space -- Autonomous Orbit Control & Stationkeeping for a Satellite Constellation with extra endurance. Freeze dried endangered delicacies for astronauts: NASA Space Shuttle Astronaut Toilet, Waste Collection System Restraint Bag with a picture of yours truly in my signature Back Lat Spread pose. You get the idea. I feel thought I am getting stretched a bit thin as the current Administration is trying to get me to aid the war effort by pacifying the Iraqi insurgents with my smoldering glance. I guess there is enough of me to go around though. I was even able to get in my SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos afterward and recovered some of my virility. The pump was good. The burn was better.

The Orange line was full of lovelies, but not as many as I am used to. I assume some are out on their flexible schedules. This gave me ample opportunity to pose -- Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Chest, Back Double Biceps, and signature Back Lat Spread. One lovely turns bright pink and faints. Another goes into labor. A third wants me to sign her breasts. I whip out my Mr. Sharpie and oblige. A fourth wants a charcoal rubbing of my abs. Have at it, babe!

I’m thinking of leaving work a little early today, 2PM, to head down to Borders. South of Dupont Circle. I think some music would liven my work-out. Maybe some Jill Sobule or Rilo Kiley or Sisters Of Sharon. After that, maybe head over to Angles for a Cadenhead's Old Raj Gin and Hybolin Decanoate.

Me you ask? Working out. Looking good. Girls that rock. Pleasing the lovelies of the Orange line. That is what I am about. And if you are tired of the New Age Submissives of craigslist, drop me a line.