I, for one, take very great pleasure (in a very manly sort of way) in following the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the trials and tribulations of my favorite ebony mountains of muscle, as they pose in ultra-tight nut-hugging bikinis to R'n'B music so gay it could give you HIV, with their epic GH guts hanging over said bikini, and their striated glutes a mark of extreme diuretic abuse.
I don't see what's wrong with that
