Posted by: Chelsea Novak | May 10, 2005

Really, what do you do with 20 inch guns?

When M and I were out shopping on Saturday, we made our way to a popular Yorkville denim store so that M could find some new jeans. And did he ever find jeans, and bless his heart, he bought the affordable ones. We sure do know where we can go to drop some coin should some come our way now.

Anyway, as M was trying on many pairs of pants, the men’s section of the store was over-taken by a gaggle of loud (and I suspect a little drunk) men, who were all trying to help their friend buy a new T-shirt. The wealthy apparently shop in packs… really loud packs.

The guy trying to buy the shirt clearly worked out a lot. He was little shorter than I am, and had maybe enjoyed a needle or two worth of steroids. He was trying to find a shirt that fit both his upper and lower torso. A challenge as his upper torso was about 10 times bigger than is sensible for a human being. It was obvious that he put a lot of work into it. It was undeniable and had I been a blind person it would have been graciously pointed out to me by his friends who, at top volume, kept saying “Gotta show off those 20 inch guns!”

Being the only female near the change rooms they kept asking me for my opinion on his T-shirt choice. Oh the dilemma. A large would make him look like he couldn’t dress himself, a medium was a decent choice, but didn’t really hug the body in an ideal way and a small, well a small fit him well. So well that it would make him really popular with other men.

Now remember that his friends won’t stop yammering on about his biceps, asking me if I’ve ever seen “guns that big” and “what did I think of guns like that” to which I responded that “they’re rather frightening.” You look at this guy and it’s scary. A person doesn’t work out like that to look fit. Those arms were like weapons and I prefer that men be armed with a superior wit rather than muscles that could crush my frame like a Boa Constrictor.

So when asked which size of shirt he should buy, I had no choice but to emphatically suggest that he get the small. I wanted him to be the toast of Church street, so I appealed to his ego and said “You work out for a reason, might as well show it off.” He bought the small and the 20 minutes of listening to his friends blather about his arms was suddenly worth it.

Bless the lean boys and their sleek build. Boo to the muscle-bound steroid-junkies and their “guns.”

Today’s sing-a-long song: “Muscle Museum” by Muse




  1. LMAO

    At least he didn’t call them ‘pythons’, right? 😉

  2. And at least they didn’t ask you if you’d bought your tickets yet.

    Cus then you’d say, “Tickets to what?”

    And he’da flexed and said, “Tickets to the Gun Show!”

  3. /groan

    That would have been justifiable reason for a swift kick to the face.

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