They call themselves.
That’s fucking funny.
Real models are the runway kind,
And they are moving art,
And they are
From Every. Single. Angle.
Insta-models are moving fast food,
Overly-salted nutritionally-void instant cuppa noodles ready in 2 minutes,
And shat out in less.
I just hope they have a personality to use as a life preserver
When people stop caring about their vapid views, useless “fitness” videos, and their perfectly-filtered asses.
Too bad they are all run-of-the-mill-cosmetically-altered boredom incarnate,
Only good for a midnight stroke sesh,
And that’s about all.
At least they’re good for a laugh.
I’ll get my 5-day abs that way, I guess.
*** Are we maybe a little bit jelly, Angel Eyes? I mean they are these nubile twenty-somethings… and you… well… you just turned 40… and you have stretch marks and sagging skin. ***
*** Yes. 40. Stretched and sagging from living and growing life. But as for my agéd ass… let’s just say that I believe in building one over paying for one. And I do my squats every damn day. ***
*** Written in the middle of a workout… between sets of hammer curls and shoulder presses. 👊 My exercise regimen is NOT courtesy of Instagram. ***