Just me having fun with the sad sacks of craigslist M4W in Washington, DC.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

I'm no superhero. I slip on my banana hammock one leg at a time.

More tribute to Mark Leyner.

I’m no superhero. While I have more there to pack in, I slip on my lime green banana hammock one leg at a time. I’m pretty much your average guy. Only better. This weekend I saw “March of the Penguins” and thought that those emperor penguins looked quite tasty. Through my special supplier I ordered some eggs and emperor penguin bacon which I had this morning for breakfast along with a nice Chilean breakfast wine. After that I slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I head for the 42 bus to Dupont Circle where I pick up the Red Line to Judiciary Square.

Instead of heading straight to the office, I head to the gym. I practice my posedowns after my workout and shower in front of the mirror. Take it all in -- muscle mass, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, mental focus, dignitiy. Instead of my Carla Berle leather pants, I change into my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena Kapoor wore in the movie "Jeena Sirf Merre Liye." She gave it to me after I saved her from an elite force of geriatric pygmy ninja when she was filming "Ajnabee."

Good thing. Leaving the gym I am attacked by a small cabal of bashi-bazouks armed with spears and light machine guns. But me in my orange and lilac choli and lehenga, I'm fully prepared to unleash the horrible fury of my Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. With savage intensity I'm singing Mehbooba Mehbooba . Not the standard Mehbooba Mehbooba, but the E-groove Mix of Mehbooba Mehbooba. They are all dazzled by my speed, style, the flourish and panache of my orange and lilac choli and lehenga, my strength, and my precise but soulful rendition of the song. I handily defeat my foe, but who among my sychophants betrayed me? Who knew I was going to be at the gym? They'll pay. I have no patience for these new age milquetoasts from craigslist who would sell me out.. Why? Because my undergarments bulge in the right places much more than theirs? And for what? The pleasure of seeing me undignified? I know not.

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