Showtime, mis amigos. The sun is shining. The lawns are rocking. And my Ralph Lauren Polo shirt has imprisoned my all-star udders for far too long. The time has come to set up the nets, pump up the balls, and rip off these shirts. Assemble, my fellow economics majors. Topless Spikeball starts now.
Hell yeah, brotherman. The bod is as pristine as I remember it. It’s a damn shame it spent the winter months locked away. All these poor passersbys missed out on six months of rock hard tatas bouncing around as I make this recreational sport my B-word. The shoulders are boulders. The abs stretch from pecs to pecker. And, my calves are coming to you in 4K—because the definition is insane. That’s just a fun joke, but seriously, my calves are ridiculous. Let’s get this game going! Me and Devin will be skins, and Brayden and Carter can be skins!
No way, dude, that was rim! Haha. I love spending quality shirtless time with my best friends. What? You think you’re supposed to be making fun of me? All because I’ve got my googoos and gagas out on Butler Lawns? Well, let me ask you this: which one of us do you think is happier? More free? I’m enjoying the company of my three closest, toplessest friends. You’re reading a satire paper. The weather’s nice, bro. And this game’s almost over. If you wanted to, you could ditch the shirt and join us. Whaddaya say, big dog? You got next?
