I'm gonna GET YOU, Marge!!!!!!!

Call me crazy, but I'm stalking every last little fat cell that remains on my ass at the end of this prep. There aren't many, but I know who they are, I know where they live, and I know their names!!!!

The last refeed and the daily cardio sent Stanley and Scrappy to the fat cell graveyard, but Marge is still there.........lurking................taunting me.........threatening to ooze out and attempt to eat my microscopic, bedazzled 2-piece suit bottom.

That bitch is not going down without a fight, lemme tell you. She's currently camped out, with her AK-47 and night vision goggles, lying in wait. She's planning a suprise ambush attack, I just know it. Sure, she might PLAY DEAD til showtime, but I know what she's up to. I overheard her telling Stanley and Scrappy (before their hasty demise...LOL...may they R.I.P.) that she may be playing possum NOW, but come showtime? She's planning to leap out and SMILE like a big dog at the judges as soon as I hit my first rear pose.

So, Marge? Honey, Mama's got some news for you. You will NOT be meeting Sandy Williamson or Steve Weinberger or Jim Rockell or ANY of those IFBB judges. Nope, nope. Marge, you're going down. It's 'game on' on my end. I got your number, honey. I'm gonna GET YOU. So, watch your back.