Bagster, I literally had a dream about you the other night.
#no homo
It was one of those dreams that takes you to places from the past. The town was Palo Alto, I think it was in the general neighborhood of 367 Addison Avenue which I did in fact frequent in the days before Silicon Valley. Some fellows I was traveling with ended up bringing me to your house. A geographically inaccurate feature, to my understanding, but dreams tend to do that. You came home from work, a little tired and not talking much. I was trying to figure out a way to communicate with you in a clandestine manner, but time ran out, and the dream ended.
#Awkward
No, just kidding.
(or am i)
Seriously, doh.
That's amazing cause I had a dream about you too. Wanna hear about it? Here it go.
So I'm taking my yolked ass to Gold's Gym, like I do three times a day every day since I was twelve. I turn sideways to get in the front door and strut in with my swag on. all female eyes upon my Herculean aspect. I cast my gaze over the lesser mortals, when suddenly I see a massive form of a man at the bench press throwing up 250 lbs. in sets of 12 at three minute intervals.
Impressed I was, and ol' Bags ain't easily impressed. So I goes up to this specimen of a man, and who does it turn out to be? YOU! The famous Reasonisfaith.
I says, nice workout. You says, yea I was just warming up. So I go, how much can you bench? You go, 188% of my body weight. I says, no. You says, yea.
I said, show me. You said, okay.
You stacked on some plates, laid down and pushed, no spotter, cause your a madman like that.
Heave, exhale, grunt...and it was up! You grinned up at me. See, Bagster? I told you a long time ago I could bench 188% of my body weight. I told you, yea you did, and they still talk about it today around the fire. You are a legend. You smiled your cockeyed, yet boyish smile.
But then the music stopped, and I said, hey, let's go get your weight. You said, huh? I said, the scale, now. You were like....alright.
We walked to the scale and you stepped on. I tippy tapped the thingy until the scale balanced and looked at the result, as a knowing grin began to develop on my overly handsome face.
Being a super genius, I had already done the math as I turned to you. LIAR, says I. you only lifted 182.49% of your body weight.
Your reddening face fell and your shoulders drooped. I am caught out, you said, and turned and shambled slowly for the exit, leaving your towel and gatorade bottle behind. You were never to be seen in the company of men ever again.
And so died the legend of 188%. The skies wept tears of sorrow. The mountains trembled their shame, and Q in his faraway tower shuddered. He whispered, future proves past, and turned away.
Crazy dream, right?