Arrival of The Fittest
80s douche, early Christmas, do you want to drink protein together?
Well any man with a microphone
Can tell you what he loves the most
And you know why you love at all
If you're thinking of the Holy Ghost
If you're thinking of the Holy Ghost
It started just like any other day: I was feeling good. Dangerous.
I woke up fresh and light. The sun hadn’t yet started his full shift so outside was the early morning hue of black mixing with powder blue.
This is the days version of foreplay, warming us up before blossoming into the Art that each morning evolves into.
I ruined the morning.
Had the momentum and decided, instead of doing anything productive, to drink a whole pot of coffee and just ‘see’ where the world would take me.
A couple hours into this and I’m wearing 4inch inseamed shorts, cotton, nothing under, a black t shirt that I cut in half, essentially a ‘crop top’ now that highlights the Rectus Abdominus muscle, commonly known, in groups of the intellectually challenged, as the ‘Abs’
I’ve moved past short hand of this nature. Evolved, as one would say. Even when I see a cat at a friends house I say “oh shit, that’s a beautiful Felis catus”
It’s an increasingly douchey habit that gets worse each time.
Solid black shirt shorts. Black crop top. Mustache, thick. Protein shake, 6 raw eggs, milk, Centenarius powder, in mustache. Thoughts of destruction, in mind. I’ve also got on a tri colored headband and matching wristbands.
I look like an 80s bully because I am.
I’m standing in the mirror doing curls thinking that I should hit legs a little harder. I’m thinking many others things like what will I put on my tombstone? What is my 2nd grade girlfriends Lindsey, up to? Does my grandma worry about me, should I call her? I would but my biceps are winking at me and I’m also thinking of
*knock* *bang* *bang* *knock bang knock*
enter your email!
And I snap towards the door. Who dare treads on the step of thy dojo.
I frown. I’m getting into ‘character’
I frown harder and spit a little so it’s running towards my chin.
I change the music from ‘Hottest Elevator Music of 1999’ to something more rock n roll. More in ‘character’
All of this is done in 3 seconds before I rip the door open ready to brawl or make out.
Standing at the whopping height of my chest is a rosy cheeked woman, middle age with frantic hair that screams to me ‘overworked’ and this is amplified by the heavy looking box in her sturdy, built for winter, arms:
“Winston? Shipment for you!”
And I start jumping with delight!
Come in come in protein shake? Headband?
“Uhh I don’t think I can, there are a lot of boxes out here for you”
And twisting my head out of the safety of my door frame I see she’s not lying. There’s a dozen packages lined up on the ground.
We work together. Her and I. Holiday spirit. Shes like Santa. I tell her this. She tosses her head back in a cackle. And Good God! what a screech it was!
When the last box was brought inside I asked for her phone number and she said no and that she was too old for me and that She’d be no good for me.
What a dirty little mystery…
Nonetheless we proceed with a chin held high!
Back inside and I drop to my knees to pray, knowing exactly what’s in the box I asked God to please, before I witness, change the appearance to the best he could and when I opened the first of many I see the holy blue front cover of Celebrating The Funerals first edition.
Arrived and beautiful and shipping will begin the end of the week!
