Three Posts in One Day... Oh Dear

I'm posting so much because I have an exam tomorrow that I don't want to study for. I just thought that I would post a little something for Jill, I think you'll really like it. Also, Fernando is turning out to be really different than I set out for him to be. He isn't supposed to be that funny, but he keeps on cracking jokes. I think it's because I don't know how to write anyone without them being funny, because otherwise they'll be boring.

I awoke at such an ungodly hour that I don’t care to share with you exactly what time it was. You might be just as offended as I was. And it wasn’t just the hour that pissed me off; it was the way that I was woken up. It took a while to fully hit me that my rooster, or better yet, this cock, was Fernando. Singing. Loudly. In the shower. To ‘Let It Rock’ by Kevin Rudolf, featuring Lil’ Wayne. I could faintly hear the music in the background, but the loudest singer of them all was not Kevin, but Fernando. I love him, I really do, but when I heard his voice that morning, it confirmed to me that there is no god.
I rolled out of bed, hit my head on the ground, and charged for the bathroom so I could let Fernando know exactly what I thought of this wake-up call. But when I opened the door, and I saw him standing in the shower with, no joke, a blue shower cap, my anger evaporated like the steam that was emanating from the shower.
“Do you do this every morning?” I asked, trying to hide my amusement at his bathroom attire.
“Don’t question my methods, Olga. Listen to ‘Let It Rock’ in the shower just once and you will never go back. You will literally attack the day ahead,” he responded.
“I’ll attack you if you do this every morning. I can’t wake up this early just because you want Lil’ Wayne to lick your lollypop.”
“I don’t understand, and I won’t respond,” he shook his head. “And, as much as it pains me to tell you, you do have to wake up this early. We have to drive to Melwood together, and you’re expected to be there when the team shows up. Our jock straps won’t clean themselves.” He joked as he soaped himself up, using that green bar of soap that I loved.
“If that is my job description, I’m going home.”
“I don’t know what you’ll be doing, but for your sake, I pray it doesn’t involve any manner of handling jock straps. I think you would get genital warts just by touching Tim O’Shea’s. And you would probably explode into flames if you even look at Antonio Mourinho’s (for the record, this is the Cristiano Ronaldo-inspired character). You do not want to know where that thing’s been.”
“Disgusting,” I replied, my eyes conveying how disturbed I felt at the thought of handling this part of their equipment.
Because Fernando took so long in the shower (I wonder how much time he could cut out if he didn’t sing) I wasn’t able to shower myself. I hurriedly got dressed in what I decided was work-appropriate attire, stole one of Fernando’s white belts (he had several- I briefly wondered why he had such an obsession with white belts) and ran to the running car with a bagel in my mouth. It turns out that Fernando’s love of ‘Let It Rock’ isn’t confined to the shower. We listened to it on repeat all the way to practice.

I'm going for the 'Best Use of Jock Strap Discussion to Bolster the Word Count' Award. But, important question: do football players even wear jock straps?