I Am The Leaping Pickleball Man, And I Show No Mercy

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to my opponent’s crotch.All things come easy to me. I have natural talent, a disorder that pumps too much testosterone through my veins, enviable height, and far too much spare time since my divorce which I use to pump up these biceps and shoulders until the only shirts I can wear are tube tops. Don’t worry, I make them look masculine.I found pickleball on a Reddit thread while I sat atop my porcelain throne, and I grew so excited that I almost leapt right off the toilet mid-evacuation. I thought, Here is a sport that I have not yet dominated, but dominate it I will.I didn’t bother with silly lessons or what the unexceptional call ‘practicing.’ I watched one YouTube tutorial and then stomped to my nearest court. I didn’t have a pickleball paddle, so I used my bare hands. Later, one of my opponents gave me the equipment I needed as an offering, after being hit in the crotch one too many times. I also care not about the ‘rules’ — I’m the one who always makes them, because rules are for the weak. I am the strongest and the strongest is me. I serve entire games without relinquishing a single point.Oh, so you’v

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e seen how my opponents cry on the other side of the net? Don’t feel sorry for them, they’re just weeping tears of ecstasy at bearing witness to my Godlike skill. It’s not about their broken fingers, nor about the scrapes they incurred while falling to their knees in awe. They know they can never beat me, so they worship me instead. That’s how it should be.As I play, just watch how my quad muscles bulge like plastic bottles filled to bursting with protein shakes. Notice the definition in my calves, the flexibility of my ankles. I leap here, I leap there, I leap everywhere.When the world is ready for me, I will take my leaping to the pro pickleball circuit, and I will leap my way to the top until no more opponents remain. When that occurs, I will clone myself so that I may beat the only opponent worthy enough to play me. Beating myself will mean I can leap right into oblivion, whereupon I will ascend into pickleball heaven and impose my will upon the sport forever after.So, yeah. To anwer your question, I’m going to supersize that Baconator.Thanks to <a href="undefined">Mary Nguyen</a>.</article></body>

I Am The Leaping Pickleball Man, And I Show No Mercy

Before I answer your question, let me tell you something first. Yes, it’s true. You’ve heard of me by many names — Wunderkind, the Savior, the hotter version of Jesus — but I want you to know me as the Leaping Pickleball Man, because that is me now and I am that.

I will tell you once and once only what the great sport of pickleball is, just so you have enough of the background knowledge necessary to fully understand and praise my skill. Pickleball is like ping-pong for athletic people. None of those silly tiny movements, no standing in place. Pickleball uses a paddle (which I often use to spank the losers), and you have to run around the court. For experts like me, I stand as close to the net as I can and I smash that ball right into my opponent’s crotch.

All things come easy to me. I have natural talent, a disorder that pumps too much testosterone through my veins, enviable height, and far too much spare time since my divorce which I use to pump up these biceps and shoulders until the only shirts I can wear are tube tops. Don’t worry, I make them look masculine.

I found pickleball on a Reddit thread while I sat atop my porcelain throne, and I grew so excited that I almost leapt right off the toilet mid-evacuation. I thought, Here is a sport that I have not yet dominated, but dominate it I will.

I didn’t bother with silly lessons or what the unexceptional call ‘practicing.’ I watched one YouTube tutorial and then stomped to my nearest court. I didn’t have a pickleball paddle, so I used my bare hands. Later, one of my opponents gave me the equipment I needed as an offering, after being hit in the crotch one too many times. I also care not about the ‘rules’ — I’m the one who always makes them, because rules are for the weak. I am the strongest and the strongest is me. I serve entire games without relinquishing a single point.

Oh, so you’ve seen how my opponents cry on the other side of the net? Don’t feel sorry for them, they’re just weeping tears of ecstasy at bearing witness to my Godlike skill. It’s not about their broken fingers, nor about the scrapes they incurred while falling to their knees in awe. They know they can never beat me, so they worship me instead. That’s how it should be.

As I play, just watch how my quad muscles bulge like plastic bottles filled to bursting with protein shakes. Notice the definition in my calves, the flexibility of my ankles. I leap here, I leap there, I leap everywhere.

When the world is ready for me, I will take my leaping to the pro pickleball circuit, and I will leap my way to the top until no more opponents remain. When that occurs, I will clone myself so that I may beat the only opponent worthy enough to play me. Beating myself will mean I can leap right into oblivion, whereupon I will ascend into pickleball heaven and impose my will upon the sport forever after.

So, yeah. To anwer your question, I’m going to supersize that Baconator.