Sunday, May 27, 2012

The Big 100 Colossal Judgement Day

In the first post of this blog I described to you the problem of swole-hate in our modern society and essentially stated that this blog is a solution of sorts to those brothers and sisters-in-swole who have suffered from our oppressive swole-shaming culture. It is both a solution and a coping mechanism. Maybe, just maybe, if this blog becomes popular enough it will catch the eye of someone who has the power to make changes. Perhaps a politician or a movie star... and they'll become vocal about the Swole Acceptance movement, and us swole folk will feel comfortable being us; comfortable in our own swole.

Like I said before, it doesn't matter how tall you are, you have the right to be swole. Don't let society tell you otherwise.

Moving along.

Today I had what I like to call "an event." I had just woken up and was making some morning coffee when I realized I was out of milk. So, very quickly, I threw on a shirt which must have shrank in the wash and headed out to my local grocery store. Once inside I could almost feel the piercing eyes upon my pectoralis major and instantly the weight of the world was on my trapezius. Quickly I walked to the dairy isle and grabbed a gallon of vitamin d whole milk. But on the way to the cashier something caught my eye.

It was a MetRx Big 100 Colossal bar; 400 calories and 31g of protein. Some call it a "meal replacement." I call it a side order of muscle fuel. I told myself no. I tried to fight the urge... but my will was weak, like my bench, and I ended up buying the "meal replacement" bar; knowing I would be judged for this purchase upon payment.

At the check out counter there was a middle aged woman hurriedly scanning and bagging other patrons groceries. Normal food like doughnuts, white bread, margarine, and marshmallow rice cakes. Nothing to take notice of. Nothing shocking enough to cause this cashier to look away from her counter as she worked. Soon it was my turn and judgement was upon me. She slid the gallon of whole milk across the counter and slightly rose her chin; attempting to peek out from behind her 1980's bangs to see this disgusting blob of swole. Yet she had little courage. But then she scanned the Big 100 Colossal... and like the end of a whip her head snapped up and her eyes, those penetrating eyes, looked deep into my myofibrillar hypertrophy and I saw that she concluded I was of lower intelligence and only worthy of her gawking, not any sort of greeting or passing words.

I paid the woman and left in near tears. Being swole is something I enjoy, but sometimes things like this happen and I feel pressured by society to change my muscle bound ways. Maybe I'll pick up jogging or cycling. Maybe I'll become a vegetarian or a vegan.

Maybe then I'll be accepted.

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