Here’s a photograph from last summer, the day the gal I’m going steady with and I attended our first Minnesota Twins game together. They played the Phillies on what turned out to be a gorgeous June evening. It’s a good picture—you can see the Minneapolis skyline in the background, and hometown hero Joe Mauer at the plate. She kind of ruined it by talking, but it’s still a fun memory.
P90X, the massively popular fitness system engineered by Tony Horton, is a great workout—you can do it in the privacy of your home, and it only takes up about an hour of your day. The program does, however, have a repetitive nature. After three rounds through each workout video, unbeknownst to the viewer, disturbing apparitions have already seeped deep into the back doors and forgotten corners of the brain, combining to form a horrific dreamscape, culminating in violent sexual nightmares about Tony Horton. Seriously. It happened to this guy I know.
It starts out mild—basic dreams of Tony in front of you grunting, sweating, proclaiming “I like these pushup handles because they let you go extra deep.” So I’m told. It never happened to me. It happened to my friend.
Innocent enough. Then, the dream repeats, exactly the same, only Horton is now behind you, out of sight. No matter how much you spin, he is forever at your backside. A one-eighty that the man who told me all this wouldn’t wish on his greatest foe. He pulled me aside and made it totally clear that he, my friend, would wish to endure Dante’s Hell rather than a psychoid-level bout with Tony Horton’s dreambeast.
Then, around week six of the program, I’m led to believe you’re right in the middle of a deep plyometric burn, totally awake, and the lights dim—it’s a daydream, or the power went out, maybe someone slipped LSD into your recovery drink—no one knows, and T-Hort is rootin’ around in your underwear, and you return the favor, according to my friend. Pretty gross. You’re both looking each other in the eyeball, bottom-scooping the contents of each other’s drawers. So I was told in such graphic detail it’s almost as if I experienced these night terrors myself.
What I wanted to relay to all of you, through the cautionary tales of my friend, is that P90X will sculpt your body, I suppose. And oh, yeah, it will also carve a deep fissure into a part of your brain you maybe didn’t even know existed, and create channels leading to a 36-chambered Shaolin temple-like complex, where one must perform hallucinogenic battles with fitness icons from Jack LaLanne to Richard Simmons, inevitably ending in the insanity of the dreamer.
But it’s all about looking hot on the outside, so don’t worry about your brain.
From The Sports Desk—————-Over the weekend, a multitude of NFL teams drafted heterosexual men, franchises including the Houston Texans, St. Louis Rams, Jacksonville Jaguars, Buffalo Bills, Oakland Raiders, Atlanta Falcons, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Cleveland Browns, Minnesota Vikings, Detroit Lions, Tennessee Titans, and New York Giants, as well as every other organization in the league.
After months of analyzing, speculating, and debating, each team looked at its personnel needs and took into account every available player’s potential, skills, knowledge of the rules and strategy related to American football, attitude, discipline, size, 40-yard dash time, bench press, vertical, personality, criminal record, mental health, vision, weight, height, body fat percentage, and collegiate performance, seemingly with little regard to the fact that the near majority of athletes chosen were sexually attracted to women.
Draft analysts are still searching for evidence as to whether preference for intercourse with female genitalia or a man’s rectum, or both, is of any relation to performance on an NFL gridiron. It takes a dedicated, mentally-tough individual to show up every Sunday, wriggle into skintight spandex pants and haul around a leather air sack reminiscent of an enlarged, sickly-looking testicle. Time will tell if the heteros can handle it.
When the 2014 season concludes, franchises will evaluate how the straights handled life on and off the field during the grueling 17 week work year, and possibly break down more barriers in the 2015 draft, where it is whispered that a white quarterback may be chosen, if the whole event doesn’t turn into a violent pansexual free-for-all first.