I’m trying to get back in shape. I saw those adrenaline- pumping Under Amrour commercials and thought — yeah, that’s what I need. Running through tires with a bunch of ‘Roid Rage Hulks and lifting cinder blocks like I’m Mahky Mahk in ’92: WE MUST PROTECT THIS HOUUUUUSSSSSSSE. So I went out and gots me an Under Armour shirt. HeatGear. Black. Sounds cool — iscool. Got home. Put it on. Well, “put it on” is a simplification — it was more like “paint it on.” Getting this thing on IS the workout. Once I fit this tighty over my shoulders, I had already fully exhausted my lats, pecs, bi’s, tri’s . . .
I finally got the shirt on. As I strode around the house, I could feel the benefit of this incredible gear. I felt huge. Bulging, really. For a moment, I felt like Ray Lewis doing push-ups in prison. Like Terrell Owens doing sit-ups in his driveway. Like Jose Canseco swinging a baseball bat in 1989. Like . . . well, I guess I’ve made my point. Then, I got a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. I stopped and turned to get a full view of me in all my hugeness . . . and . . . I looked like Kermit the Frog dressed as a turtle-necked poet. No . . . that’s too kind. I can’t dis my frog Kermie like that. To be more accurate, I looked a balding, pregnant 14-year old boy. Like Sinead O’Connor’s portly little brother. An absolute freak of nature. All I could think was: I can’t believe they forgot to sell me the optional 6-pack ab inserts. I knew I forgot to buy something at the store.