THE ASSHOLE COMETH

He does sit-ups in his stink for hard-core motivation.

“You can’t just fart around with exercising. If you’re gonna do it you gotta do it full on. I use the same pair of workout clothes for a week at a time. They end up reeking but you know it’s a reminder of how an out of shape body stinks. I’m also exercising to remind myself of what a weak out of shape piece of shit I am.” His clasped hands palm up to the sky and the tanned muscles on his arms flex.

“Is that hygienic ?” she asks from the other side of the table, scrunching up her nose like a little lioness.

“Is death hygienic ? Is loafing around your place like a useless piece of human excrement hygienic ? I think not.” He scans the sidewalk to find examples of out of shape bodies and when his eyes land on an overweight couple in baggy Bermuda shorts and pro-wrestling t-shirts, he raises his eyebrows. She glances at them and snickers through her tiny nostrils.

“Wow that’s really intense. I guess movie stars kind of have that kind of attitude to get where they are.” Her eyes roll over the muscles across his chest and then they move up to his eyes.

“I am a movie star.”

And that’s when the earthquake strikes.