Stoked. Feeling like a CHAMP. Coach tells me I’m running the routes good and blocking good too. Also, he says I did a good job tying my cleats all by myself. All-star, bro.
Got flipped over going into the touchdown-space and landed on my neck. Acted like, “whatever, homos” and spiked the ball. GRONKOWSKI
CALIFORNIA, bitches! 9:00am breakfast. Put eggs in my mouth. Call Kev back in Boston to tell him about the hot talent in San Diego. Kev is all, “Y U CALLIN SO EARLY, GRONK?! It’s 6:00 in the morning, bro” and I’m like NO, it’s 9:00. He’s like, “there’s a 3 hour time difference” and “we’re in different time zones” and I’m thinkin’ goddamit Kev just listen to me, bro, HOT TAIL EVERYWHERE. Dude loved Star Wars as a kid and thinks talking about *timezone space robots* makes him sound smart & shit. LAME.