The grandfather of Harry TheBicepsFlexKilla died in early December. While the two were not exceptionally close, the tragic event made Harry think of the mysterious thing that we call life.
Harry’s grandfather lived as a decent man but 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 didn’t stop counting every penny until his very last days.
Harry was feeling an incredible amount of disgust towards humans and their illogical backward thinking. He was mad and decided to hit the weights.
”At least the iron treats poor and rich people the same,” thought Harry.
At about 9 a.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. Besides, Harry was trying to improve his weak chest. He had decided to build up his armor muscles in order to 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 locker room mirror.
Harry was a few sets deep into his chest workout when a weird specimen entered the barbell house. The individual in question looked like a product of the freak factory. The guy had an enormous upper body and a silky smooth 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 the periphery of his head. The final product resembled a muscular Lego robot made by a kid that had eaten the original head and then replaced it with a different one.
Harry was in shock. He needed some time to comprehend the thing that was in front of him. The imagery felt like seeing a real-life unicorn with a pink bra.
Mr.OldFaceYoungMuscles 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 the ”I am a rich fucker. Obey!” vibe that people of today fall for.
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 had bought him when he was 14. However, the timepiece of Mr.OldFaceYoungMuscles caught Harry’s attention. The watch was one of those limited editions models that cost as much as a yacht. A mid-tier Rolex was like a watch from a Fruity Loops cereal box in terms of pricing compared to this model which was apparently made out of material available only in the deep parts of the Moon. The wristbands were handcrafted and made out of 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 man is older than Santa Claus, and yet he looks a million times better than me,” though Harry during his next bench press set. He exerted so much angry effort into the last rep that his elbows 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 instrumental often used to create an epic atmosphere in motivation bodybuilding clips in which steroid addicts try to make lateral raises look like a war against invaders from another galaxy. Harry had listened to this instrumental over 3000 times.
The source of the vibrations was the phone of Mr.OldFaceYoungMuscles. The guy was trying to stay 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.OldFaceYoungMuscles.
A few more minutes of arguing followed, 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 Internet into the ground. Do you really think that I am afraid to make an interview with your baloney website. Just give me the questions, and I will answer. 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 but apparently didn’t care much about some nerdy looking loser who was most likely spending his awake hours cleaning toilets and making coffee for the boss.
”How do I stay 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-year-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? 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 that you have some brain cells after all,” 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’ll 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 an 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,” 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 peanuts in their pants. There are others like me who take moderate doses to keep their young appearance. Don’t put that last part actually. Scratch it. I don’t want letters 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. Gandalf’s older brother cannot have a better body than me naturally while pushing 40 kilograms on the hammer strength machine with his ancient joints,” said Harry to himself.
”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,” continued the old man with big muscles.
The last bit punched Harry in the heart. It made him think of his grandfather who had been 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 one 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 two bedroom apartment for which he worked as an electrician his whole life. The only thing he bought during the last 20 years 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.
After 10 minutes Mr.OldFaceYoungMuscles went to the water fountain.
On that day Harry TheBicepsFlexKilla was different – he was not afraid to hit. He went to the alleged sports bag of Mr.OldFaceYoungMuscles and began kicking the hell out of it. He even tested a few wrestling moves that he’d seen on TV as a kid.
Immediately after the bag assault, Harry left without even changing.
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.