On Being Big & Strong

I became super muscular by eating salad dressing. I really love dips and sauces. That’s why I look this way in my swimsuit. But don’t pity me: it was my longtime desire to get bulked-up. Wimpy people have it much worse: they’re not much fun to ogle, and they all still believe that they’re musclebound anyway. 

My rule of thumb is: Lift weights until your sentience dissolves; strip down your being to a purely mechanical repetition. Never quit. 

I’m proud of my size. It’s a real achievement, for I am not the child of extremely strong parents, so I have no muscle-building help from inherited genetics. Neither do I have the advantage of… Ah drats, now I forgot the second point I was going to make.

When I return home after working out, I’m always tickled when the kids from my neighborhood come running up and ask if I need help carrying my crates of protein bars into my apartment. I always say: “Yes, please put all this extra fuel wherever you can find space in the kitchen, thank you kindly.” But, after loading up their outheld arms, I then pick up the kids themselves along with the supplies in my own muscular arms and ascend the flights of stairs to my place at the building’s top floor. This is fun for the children: they cheer like they’re on a ride at the amusement park. Then, once I reach my entry door, I set them down and dismiss them; and they use the handrail to slide back down to ground level.

Some people say that bodybuilding is a perversion, because now that firearms are available, there is no need to bulk up one’s raw physical strength. I disagree. Some say that we should make a new dieting pill that sucks all your fat away without causing hair-loss. Again, I strongly disagree.

Musclebound weightlifters are not essentially different from regular people. The only thing that a regular person can do which is hard for me to do, because my powerful frame is so enomrous, is navigating doors and hallways: I tend to get stuck. — Also, it is difficult for me to appear unattractively scrawny in erotic photos. But who wants that? Nobody likes finding out that their blind date is a Halloween skeleton. I’d rather eat a juicy beefsteak, all by myself. Throw in some potatoes, beans, cottage cheese, and grits. Plus a giant salad with bacon instead of lettuce.