gargyle socks

Great Caesar’s Ghost, young man! What kinda raggedy-ass shape have you let yourself get into this off-season, anyhow? Your muscles have lost that healthy glow that can intimidate a pile of wood into splitting itself, but that’s nothing that can’t be rectified with a few intensive physical conditioning sessions.  Why, In 1938, I shook off polio, consumption, diphtheria, the mumps, dropsy, and a tough bout with trench mouth to win second runner-up for Mister Muscles of Broward County, and I’ll let a poisonous snake get into Barbara Stanwyck’s garter belt before I let your potential get derailed by what appears to be nothing more than a mild case of cachexy. Now, this state of affairs will likely require some emergency drastic measures, but I can’t have one of my prized ath-a-letes walking around without the plump, hearty look of a champion.  By Sally Jessy Rafael’s Spectacles, we’ve got to get some color back in your cheeks and some pep and vitality in your step.

Look lively, young man! First off, I want you to lift this barbell up behind your head, while I cram a forkful of scrambled eggs into your mouth between each repetition. That’s it, put your back into it. Then we’re gonna put a rubber suit and some ankle weights on you and get you into the steam room, and you’re not coming out till you’ve done three hundred jumping jacks and polished off five strawberry milkshakes. What you need is a healthy, rotund belly to store reserves of strength in! Sweet Moses Christ, son- would you listen to that wheezing? I’ll bet your lungs are as soft and uncalloused as the silken hands of a goddamn dressmaker- I’m putting you on a strict regimen of Chesterfields, and I won’t hear no two ways about it. If I catch you outside of this field house running around with all your buddies at the malt shop without a Zippo in your pocket and a smoke in your mouth, there’s gonna be hell to pay. And none of this pansy-ass filtered hogwash, neither. I wanna see no fewer than fifty robust puffs by the time you hit the showers.

Now, not that this will be much of a concern, given your current pale, scrawny form, but stay away from women for a while, Valentino. Even if you’re on bottom, lying there like a dead fish, seemingly exerting no effort at all as you let ol’ Leggy Lois or Chesty Clara do all the work, the physical act of sexual congress invariably leads to a case of weakened legs, and trust me; you’d be well-advised to save your strength for the medicine ball and the kettlebells. If the temptation ever seems too difficult not to yield to, here’s a stick for you to bite down on until those urges go away. There, now you’re on the path back to your old strapping self. You’ve shown equal amounts of both hustle and moxie out there today, and we’ll have you back at your fighting weight in no time. Here, let me rub some of this liniment on those muscles before the ache sets in. Don’t ask any questions; just look up at the ceiling and try to think happy thoughts.


1 Response to “gargyle socks”

  1. 1 JasonPriestly
    January 5, 2011 at 12:49 pm

    After reading this I filled a condom with wooden chess pieces and swung it around my head like some kind of neo-punk barbarian from a dystopian dream world. Following that I gorged myself on cashews from the Dollar Tree. Did you know that cashews are from the same family as poison oak/ivy and sumac? That’s why you never see shelled cashews in the stores. Roasting them apparently gives off a smoke that is noxious to humans. The good news is that eating cashews helps prevent tooth decay.

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