On the TV screen was a catwalk and one after the other a parade of obese, almost nude, oiled up men strutted their stuff. It looks like I had stumbled across the swimwear section of the international "Mr Big & Proud 2015" telecast on some obscure channel. I felt positively tiny next to these massive gentlemen, emasculated even. They were so manly and so proud, and I was just a slightly pudgy wuss who had been snacking too much this month.
I called Mom over to see. "I want to enter this! I don't care what you say, I want to be in this competition next year!" I demanded.
After a brief Google Mom returned to me. "Sweetheart, I hate to break your heart but the minimum weight of entry is 440 lbs. And the registration deadline for next year is only 9 months from now. You'd have to be more than 200 lbs heavier in that time to enter."
"I told you I don't care!" I snapped, now helping myself to another pack of chips, "I want you to find out where to buy that stuff body builders eat and bring it too me. And some Krispy Kremes while you're at it!"
For the first time since I'd found the ring I was driven, I had a goal!
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