here comes skeletor

I have a new inspiration at the gym—my trainer.

I only have to look at his body to remind me of my goal. Standing just an inch taller than I am, he has muscles that seem to have been the result of a botched-up cosmetic surgery. Narrow shoulder blades hold two arms that are too small for his bulky chest, which makes him look like a duck when he walks—chest comes first before the wings. Too much working out has made his veins stick out like angry tubes. He has stretch marks near his armpits and he proudly wears them like battle scars. His ectomorphic frame must’ve endured much hardship to grow those disproportionate muscles. His tiny, skull-like head is framed by velvety, shoulder-length hair that sways gloriously when he does his crunches. I wonder if working out makes your head shrink. I’ve been told that one’s dick gets smaller with too much weight lifting, which, by the way, is a grossly unfounded myth. But the head?

At times, he reminds me of a hairy raisin pinned on top of a large potato chunk, or a dehydrated Skeletor who just had a dialysis.

Oh but he is my inspiration. One look at him and I know what I should not strive for.