Rolled up to the A1C a little early like a responsible adult (or just someone avoiding real responsibilities), knocked out a few laps, and mentally prepared for the usual early exit to work. Einstein showed up, and we got in a solid pre-beatdown chat—nothing too deep, just enough to feel productive.

We quickly realized the usual crew was MIA. Moby is off living his best life, cruising to Florida with his camper, his lady, and what can only be described as a questionable-smelling dog. BBQ is out doing the family thing. So naturally, we assumed it’d just be a two-man show…until Fletch rolled in looking like he lost a fight with a roll of duct tape and barely survived. Shoulder, knee, side—man was held together by vibes and poor decisions, but he showed up, which counts for something.

With our “elite” trio assembled, we fired up a round-robin Deck of Death. It was sweaty, slightly chaotic, and surprisingly fun. Plenty of laughs, solid work, and just enough complaining to keep it authentic. Between sets, we covered the important stuff—spring is here, plants need planting, and apparently we’re all now part-time gardeners.

Also, a quick update for the missing persons report: somewhere out there, in deep hibernation, lies Darkwing Duck. With the weather warming up, scientists (aka us standing around between sets) believe he may soon emerge from his slumber and make a triumphant return to Covington. Until then, we wait…patiently…kind of.

Public service announcement before we wrapped: maybe stick to tomatoes and flowers…because planting anything that gets you a side-eye from the state of Louisiana might ruin more than your weekend.

Good work, good laughs, and nobody completely fell apart (looking at you, Fletch). Jose10K out.

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