There’s a point in a man’s life where his blood becomes toxic, his brow drops to Neanderthalian levels and he becomes physically stronger regardless of silly things like exercise or steroids. Now, I haven’t attained this natural upgrade yet… But I know damn well it exists.
Case and point…
My father isn’t a fat man. He isn’t very skinny either. He’s a bulbous mass of rage and Hellenic genetics. So in other words, my father may look fat but were you to challenge this appearance with a slight prod of your finger pon his belly… You’d feel the density of a dying sun.
He’s a wrecking ball. And he hates it when I call him that, but it’s true. It’s not an insult. Wrecking balls are the most dreaded spheres known to man, God fuckin’ forbid you come between a wrecking ball and its wreck, you’ll be wrecked. Some people argue that a cannonball is scarier; what the fuck is a wrecking ball? It’s a cannonball with a chain attached to it, making it a thousand times scarier because you know it’s coming back around in a red rage.
Case and point…
My father isn’t a fat man. He isn’t very skinny either. He’s a bulbous mass of rage and Hellenic genetics. So in other words, my father may look fat but were you to challenge this appearance with a slight prod of your finger pon his belly… You’d feel the density of a dying sun.
He’s a wrecking ball. And he hates it when I call him that, but it’s true. It’s not an insult. Wrecking balls are the most dreaded spheres known to man, God fuckin’ forbid you come between a wrecking ball and its wreck, you’ll be wrecked. Some people argue that a cannonball is scarier; what the fuck is a wrecking ball? It’s a cannonball with a chain attached to it, making it a thousand times scarier because you know it’s coming back around in a red rage.
Contrary to popular belief, the large spherical bulge emerging from my father’s torso is not a belly, it’s a container. Within this container are years of rage pent up from life experiences that he may or may not choose to release, but Gods be damned the day he releases it.
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| From the elbow to his fingertips, pure unsaturated manliness. |
My father is short, that is a fact undeniable by anyone. However, he is proportioned like that of a military-issue tank. Stout legs, thick neck, big head and forearms that put Mel Gibson’s to shame, my father looks like someone who could easily come from the Misty Mountains of Middle Earth… Only beardless.
I’ve never seen my father lift a weight in his entire life; I’ve never heard stories of him tearing a head off or anything like that. I have seen him watch a Steven Seagal marathon with a shit-eating grin on his face, though. And I’ve also never seen him lose an arm wrasslin’ match… And let me tell you something, I’ve seen him in a lot of arm wrasslin’ matches. Professional body builders, wrestlers, cops and even marines have all been defeated at the calloused hands of this restaurant proprietor. So all that’s left to ask is, “How the hell does he do it?”
My father has old man strength. And that shit is 100% real, fo’ real. Old man strength is achieved right around the time you have your first child and in the words of Marsellus Wallace, “that’s pride fuckin’ with you.” When a man lays his eyes on his first child for the first time, pride triggers and turns a man into a murder machine. He realizes that in order to be a successful father, he mustn’t show a shred of weakness or that’ll ultimately ruin everything. In doing so every stubbed toe, hour of work, argument, fuck up, death or plain negativity must be swallowed down into his stomach and converted into pure old man strength. When the day comes a sorry son-of-a-bitch comes around and fucks with Daddy’s family, all that built up rage will be released and then there will be no one to stop the utter genocide after it.
I’ve never seen my father lift a weight in his entire life; I’ve never heard stories of him tearing a head off or anything like that. I have seen him watch a Steven Seagal marathon with a shit-eating grin on his face, though. And I’ve also never seen him lose an arm wrasslin’ match… And let me tell you something, I’ve seen him in a lot of arm wrasslin’ matches. Professional body builders, wrestlers, cops and even marines have all been defeated at the calloused hands of this restaurant proprietor. So all that’s left to ask is, “How the hell does he do it?”
My father has old man strength. And that shit is 100% real, fo’ real. Old man strength is achieved right around the time you have your first child and in the words of Marsellus Wallace, “that’s pride fuckin’ with you.” When a man lays his eyes on his first child for the first time, pride triggers and turns a man into a murder machine. He realizes that in order to be a successful father, he mustn’t show a shred of weakness or that’ll ultimately ruin everything. In doing so every stubbed toe, hour of work, argument, fuck up, death or plain negativity must be swallowed down into his stomach and converted into pure old man strength. When the day comes a sorry son-of-a-bitch comes around and fucks with Daddy’s family, all that built up rage will be released and then there will be no one to stop the utter genocide after it.
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| "FUCK GRAVITY." |
It's the true story of will power or in the case of these old men, stubbornness. His will to dead lift heaps of heavy lumber is stronger than the gravity pulling it down. It has nothing to do with method after that point. His experience, his infinite wisdom, his battered body doesn't have time to fuck around with gravity and all that bullshit and makes science yield to his anger.
That crazy look in an older man’s eye? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Years of suppressed anger, ignored boiling points, trying to play the foundation for your family in an unstable world will turn you into a Viking. It's the only reason why you'll never be able to beat your dad in anything.
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