The grandfather of Harry TheBicepsFlexKilla died in early December. While the two were not exceptionally close, this tragic event made Harry think of the supposedly mysterious thing we call life.
Harry’s grandfather was a decent man, but he was also a classic victim of the system. He had to work his entire life to pay for a small apartment at the end of the city and continued to count every penny until his very last days.
At this moment Harry was feeling incredible amount of disgust towards humans and their illogical backwards thinking. He was mad, and there was only one thing to do – go to the gym and hit the weights.
”At least heavy iron is the same for rich and poor people,” thought Harry.
At about 9a.m. Harry was in the dungeon, getting ready to do a bench only chest workout. He was too exhausted mentally to perform an exercise that requires you to stand up, and the bench press fit the bill perfectly. Besides, Harry was trying to improve his weak chest anyway. He really wanted to build up his armor muscles and face life’s punches with more confidence.
”Come at me life,” said Harry while performing the so-called most muscular pose in front of the bathroom mirror. He put on a semi-dirty shirt and left.
Harry was a few sets deep into his chest workout when a weird looking specimen entered the barbell house. The individual in question appeared constructed in a freak factory. He was wearing a kid size tank top and his large bulging musculature was close to tearing the shirt. The guy had enormous upper body and silk look to his skin. However, there was one thing out of place – his ugly egg-shaped head.
Despite the short haircut it was obvious that the man was bald and had white and gray hair all over his head’s periphery. The final product resembled a muscular Lego robot made by a kid that has eaten the original head and was forced to put a different one on the body of the superhero.
Harry was in shock. He needed some time to understand the thing that was in front of him. The imagery felt like seeing a real life unicorn with pink bra.
Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscle went to the chest machine and started pumping reps without locking his elbows – something that professional bodybuilders like Jay Cutler love doing. He was apparently an emulator.
While the guy looked stupid with his shiny tank top and ridiculous weightlifting belt with Ronnie Coleman’s name on it, he was catching a lot of positive attention. His gestures had that ”I am a rich fucker. Obey!” vibe that people of today fall for. I am talking about the happy slaves who live on their phones and constantly share the moronic wisdom of popular businessmen. Not everybody truly realizes that the money going to the real rich guys with moronic portrait pictures in glossy magazines has actually being stolen from the crowd one way or another. Yet, according to the media the ordinary man is somehow supposed to take the advice of the very same thieves.
Another thing that stood out was the watch of the guy. Harry was not really into watches. His most expensive one was a fake Casio that his mom bought him when he was 14. However, the time piece of Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscle caught Harry’s attention. The watch was one of those limited editions models that cost as much as a yacht. A mid tier Rolex is like a watch from a Fruity Loops cereal box in terms of pricing compared to this model, which was apparently made out of material only available in the deep parts of the Moon. The wrist bands were handcrafted and painted black alligator skin. This detail was complimenting perfectly the pretentious style of this old clown with muscles.
While it was obvious that the guy was coming from BIG money, the most shocking thing about him was his unusual muscular appearance.
”You have to be kidding me, Lord Of Muscles! This guy is probably older than Santa Claus and looks a million times better than me,” though Harry during his next bench press set. He exerted so much angry effort into that set that his elbow overextended a little bit. It hurt.
A few seconds after racking the bar, Harry heard a familiar song – 300 Violin Orchestra.
This a synth-string based instrumental often used to create epic atmosphere in many bodybuilding clips in which steroid pinners try to make lateral raises look like a war against invaders from another galaxy. Harry had listened to this instrumental over 3,457 times before.
The source of the vibrations was the phone of Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscle. The guy was trying to be in tune with the youth. He wanted to be a baller. #forever young
”Talk fast because I am in the middle of a chest workout. Are you calling about the interview,” said the muscular old man with noticeable irritation in his voice.
”I told you, fucker! I will do the interview. Just make sure that your questions have business value. Do you hear me, Dennis,” added Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscle.
There were a few more minutes of arguing, but Harry was bench pressing and did not hear much.
”Listen to me. I have enough money to launch a nuclear bomb and bring the whole fucking Internet into the ground. Do you really think I am afraid to make an interview with your baloney website. Just give me the questions and I will answer on the phone. Get a pen and record. You ain’t worth my time,” screamed Mr. OldFaceLotsOfMoneyYoungMuscles.
He was alone with Harry in the chest section of the gym and apparently didn’t care much about some nerdy looking loser who was most likely spending most of his time cleaning toilets and making coffee for the boss.
”How I am so big and muscular at my age? How do you think, dickhead? I am riding a fucking bicycle to work, from work, while I am at home, while I am sleeping, while I am fucking 25 years-old bitches. I am always on a biCYCLE. Don’t you get the reference? Do you want me to show you how you to tie your shoes and put socks on too. Fuck, man. Aren’t you stupid,” explained the old man.
”You can’t put that on S-Nation.com? Oh, what a surprise. It turns out you have some brain after all, son,” added the passionate bicycle rider.
”How am I supposed to know what you are supposed to write instead? You are the editor, Dennis. Man, aren’t you stupid? I don’t care what you put there. Just never mention the word steroids. If you want, you can write that I am on a diet of monkey dicks. Just don’t mention steroids. Capish?”
”This will make the vegans unhappy you say? Well, then write that I am drinking extract from plants growing close to Nuclear Power Plants. Fuck, man, aren’t you stupid? We can even make a supplement line out of this imaginary plant. We are going to call it – NPMP – Nuclear Power Muscle Plant. Capish,” added Mr. OldFaceSilkSkin.
”What I think about steroids? Nice question, actually. Just write that I am against steroids because many people use too much and fry their internals just to look big in da club and compensate for the peanut in their pants. There are others like me who use moderate doses to keep their young appearance. Don’t put that last part actually. Scratch it. I don’t want letters and threats from angry parents who have found their teen with a needle full of trenbolone sticking out of his ass,” finished Mr. OldFaceSilkSkin while admiring his shaved calves in the mirror.
”I knew it. There is no way that Gandalf’s older brother can naturally have a better body than me while pushing 40 kilograms on the hammer strength machine with his ancient joints,” said Harry to himself.
The old man continued:
”What’s my message to the kids? Fuck, man, aren’t you stupid? You are killing me. Can’t you write one of those ”dream big, achieve big” kinda endings. Don’t you get it? People just want to be lied to inspired so that their boring nine-to-five same-salary-until-retirement-at-85 life does not look so bad? Just write that I want to be an ambassador of healthy living and good nutrition. Fuck me dead, Dennis. Aren’t you stupid?”
The last bit punched Harry in the heart. It made him think of his grandfather who was a victim of the system designed by guys like this #forever young narcissistic mummy with big biceps. Harry was no longer angry that he didn’t have large muscles. He was angry at the grand illusion. The illusion that if you play by the rules, you will always get ahead. The universal trust in the system made him feel disgusted towards everything around him including the dust in the corner.
This daddy with muscles was not part of the good rich people who get ahead by working hard and avoiding the traps of the social mechanism. He was one of those narcissistic bastards that actually get ahead by making others fall in the pit.
”My grandfather followed the rules. He worked hard, he always supported the powers that be and believed with his whole heart that change is coming. It never happened. He died in a 2 bedroom apartment for which he worked as an electrician his whole life. Over the last 2 decades the only thing he bought for that apartment was a new TV. Yet, this old homo with big muscles is living the good life thanks to muscle elixirs and social leverage,” began to analyze Harry.
10 minutes later Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscles went to the water fountain.
That day Harry TheBicepsFlexKilla was different – he was not afraid to hit. He went to the sport bag of Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscles and begin kicking the hell out of it and even tested a few wrestling moves he had seen on TV as a kid.
Immediately after the bag assault Harry went to the locker room, took his clothes and left. He didn’t even change.
Ironically, when he got out of the gym he saw Mr. OldFaceYoungMuscles talking on the phone in his Porsche Carrera. The plate of the car was: ”JuiceTillYouDie007″
Harry had beaten an innocent bag. That made me him even sadder than before.