I’ve recently lost a bunch of fat and gained a lot of muscle. In fact, I’ve never been stronger in my entire life, and it all started with a picture of a dude on Instagram.
It’s not what you think. I know it sounds like that, but it’s not. NTTAWWT.
Four or five months ago, I saw a West Indian dude wearing a wife beater on instagram.
A few weeks ago, as we were packing for Cuba, my wife found my oooooolld old old old silver (well, silver-looking) chain (three circles one rectangle three circles one rectangle) that I bought 20 YEARS AGO for 25 bucks from a kiosk in a mall that has since been TORN DOWN. And when I put that chain on, I JUST KNNNEWW that I was going to Cuba full coolie: wife beater (which I’d never, EVER, worn before), silver chain, hawaiian shirt, belly out, fist by my side strangling the neck of a Sol.
So, I set out for Wal-Mart in search of the only item of clothing that I was missing: my father’s domestic uniform, le wife ah-beateurrrhh. I found it easily enough, and went to open the package to check the size, but the ever vigilant Eastern Bloc European grandmother heading up the section wasn’t having none of it. ‘Nah, son,’ she mirrored in Eastern Bloc, “You ain’t gon’ try that shit on MY WATCH: it’s in a package, son; that means you open it WHEN YOU BUYYYY IT.’ Again, all of that she said, in, uh, Eastern Bloc.
I even tried to sneak it into the Fitting Room! But that dastardly Filipino mother of three called Eastern Bloc on me and I got shat on AGAIN. ‘Eh yo son, you CRAZY? What I done TEEELL YOU?’
So, I had to take the wife beaters home and try them on there, as Eastern Bloc insisted. I get home, fling dong de wWHHOLE ah de bags dem pon de rivah, and unwrap les wife beateurs right there in the living room. Now, I’m thinking I’m just gonna ease into this muthafucka like it’s an XL, but yoooo…it was like an alligator was trying to pull a snake over top it’s own head! That shit was tuuuuuuuiiiiiiIIGHHHT!!
Just so happens there’s a mirror in the living room.
I catch myself doing a Chris Brown freeze arms lookin’ like Harry Houdini trying to GET OUT, NOT IN, OUT, of a straight jacket upside down. And when I FINALLY get this thing on, before I can suck in my stomach, I look at myself in the mirror, and JESUS CHRIST, MIKE: YOU LOOK FATTER THAN DAD DID WHEN HE DIED.
So yeah, here I am, 15lbs lighter and stronger than ever. Bottle that in a pill and sell it,