My Instagram feed’s blowing up,

because I can

pose in my undies

with my arms

behind my

big,

block

head.

Now, I can do this with increased confidence. They call it a transformation.

There’s nothing I can do about this cubed bonce, though.

The clinic can’t contour my skull at a price-point I can afford.

My head’s always been a problem.

Other than that, I can’t take enough pictures of the new me:

Look… it’s me at the gym.

Now, I’m in the bathroom in a new pair of undies I got in the post.  Maybe the designer will see this and start paying me.  I make a good commercial, don’t you think?

Well… don’t you?

Here are my sparkling veneers in ECU.

This is a crisp cut apple and some oatmeal; I’m a healthy guy. I’m on the stair-stepper to prove it.

I may be a role model.

It’s my dream to be a role model, to be an up and comer, to be an Inspiration, a page from the book of success.

See my before and after collage?

See my spartan diet?

See my inflated lips and buttocks?

See my ever-expanding tattoo?

Behold my carefully constructed semi-nude pose on this desolate beach; I’m blowing a kiss to you from behind my Persols.

Here I am with my ass out making smoothies.

Here I am with my nalgas exposed doing my laundry.

This is me in a jockstrap shaving.

Woo hoo!

I wear a lot of hats and bandannas. I’m letting my hair grow long again.  There are work-arounds for most everything except a head like a gun safe.  Hats.  Puppy faces.  Filtering the best I have to offer, like distilled water.  Pictures from the neck down.  Perfection from the neck down.