This Weekend at the Bananahammock Compound

This past Sunday I woke up promptly at the triple-nickel. That’s 5:55AM for those of you who are unaware. I’m lying in bed admiring my physique in the mirrors above my big round rotating bed, snug in the flannel sheets that my compound staff put on, taking off the satin sheets for the season. Trying to get the blood flowing, I practice a couple of poses--Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread—then I roll over and do a Back lat spread though I cannot admire my muscle mass as now I am face down in bed.

I get up, shower, and air dry over my glass of breakfast wine. Naked and air drying, I take my morning supplement, Pump Tech™, which of course has led to even better pumps, jacked up my Nitric Oxide levels, increased my vascular response, and has my muscles blown up like balloons.

I decide I need to do some grocery shopping. Chilly morning, I slip commando-style into my Carla Behrle leather pants. Blue Armani flannel shirt with the arms pre-ripped off to accommodate my gigantic biceps. The shirt fits like a glove, taught across my ripped pecs. I’m strolling down the aisles at El Safeway with my shopping list and coupons:

ground panda
condor eggs
yak milk
emperor penguin tenderloin
Fresca
pepper jack cheese
Snuggle
apples
asparagus

The usual. Anyway, I’m over by the condom gulag and I notice this woman noticing me. Noticing my ripped definition. Noticing my muscle mass. Noticing my powerful presence. She’s staring at my crotch and squeezing those Fuji apples to test for firmness I suppose. And drooling. I approach and let her know that if she’s after something really firm, she should come back to my Adams Morgan compound for a glass of breakfast wine and enjoy a Lifetime movie, “Hunger Point” starring Barbara Hershey as an overbearing mother who nit-picks her daughter into bulimia.

Me you ask? Grocery shopping. Getting up early on Sunday. Lifetime movies. That is what I am about.