the sticking point: THE STINKING POINT, v.1

Here is one of the parody posts that you guys have sent in. This one came from Brian Last Stop. I think it's pretty damn great, even if it does contain a word I would never write. The only time you'll ever read the word "spooge" on a real Sticking Point entry is, actually, in this sentence.

Here's his parody...

Just got back from buying workout pants at Dick’s Sporting Goods. (What genius decided that was a good name for a store?) But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

It’s been 143 days since I’ve gotten more than an hour of sleep in one night. The lack of rest is really getting to me. I find myself agitated all the time. Except when I’m playing with my sons. Then I’m only 90% agitated. Or maybe it’s 91%. I wonder if there’s a website that can calculate this precisely for me. (Update: yup, there is. Here.) So I decided that, rather than let the annoyance eat away at me all day, I’d work through it and hit the gym. Sadly, not Coliseum (S needed the car to pick up my specially-ordered "Meat of 113 Species" sandwich. Some people say you can’t taste the zebra in there, but I disagree). But it did feel good to head back to the old stomping ground.

I arrived at the gym at 0845, bursting with energy that had no reason to be emanating from my body. I headed over to my Fortress of Solitude, the cage. Imagine my surprise when I discovered Joel Toranzo there. Joel Toranzo! At my gym! Deadlifting 2,755 pounds in my Fortress of Solitude! Using the same exact “claw” that I use! I hadn’t been that surprised since The Stranglers performed “Love 30” at their concert at The Continental on January 11, 1982 (I have the Portuguese UA / Liberty 7" of “Golden Brown” on which that track is the b-side… I bought it for 17 cents on eBay back in 2003. One of my all-time greatest purchases. In my mind, it’s the best song ever recorded to listen to while flossing your teeth). They had never before played that song live in the U.S. I remember a man in a blue hat standing a few feet in front of me sneezed during that song, and I had to hold myself back from punching him in the back of the head. He ruined history in the making for me!

I nervously approached Joel, not wanting to disturb his routine. What do you say to one of your all-time idols? “I’m honored to meet you?” Too fanboy-ish. “Can I work in with you?” Too intrusive. “Need a spot?” Sure, as if Joel Toranzo needs a spot from me. I settled on “How many more sets do you have?” He sized me up and said he’d just started, but that I could feel free to work in with him. What a turn of events! I immediately began to sweat; my gym routine hasn’t been the same since I returned with W, and I’ve definitely lost a lot of upper-body strength. But this was my shot, and I wasn’t going to blow it.

It’s almost impossible to put this into words. I have never in my life had a workout like this before. Every muscle in my body was aching with pain and throbbing with pleasure at the same time (It was similar to the feeling I get when anything off of Einstürzende Neubauten's Halber Mensch album comes up on my iPod shuffle. Although nothing compares to the live version they played of the title track on my bootleg CD of their 2/18/86 concert at Vaals. It’s very rare, and although the sound quality is bad, you can tell they were at the top of their game that night). And on my 17th rep (a new record for me!), with Joel cheering me on, I reached orgasm. It’s not the first time that’s happened to me during a workout; it’s not even particularly unusual. But the amount of spooge that came spewing out of me was definitely unprecedented. I ground through another 8 reps to finish my set, and Joel and I continued working out for another 7 hours, interspersing actual exercise with arguments over the ideal sports supplements (I have always and will always stand by Bodyonics, while he argued for good, old-fashioned anabloic steroids like Trenbolone) and arguments over whether Morgan Tsvangirai (or anyone from the Movement for Democratic Change) has any shot whatsoever at winning the 2008 Zimbabwaen elections (I say no; he says anything’s possible, but his arguments are based on questionable hypotheses at best and are fundamentally flawed, I believe). Finally he had to call it a day, and after a quick shower, I headed out to find a new pair of workout pants. I can never wear today’s day’s jizz-covered ones again; what if someone spilled Gatorade or something on them? They’d be ruined!

I headed to Dick’s Sporting Goods. Not because I like the place. Simply because I know I won’t run into anybody I know there. (If you think I hate shopping, multiply it by 100 to know how much I hate small talk with acquaintances while shopping. I hate it almost as much as the time I ordered a CD of the Ramones’ soundcheck when they performed at McAllister Auditorium in New Orleans from February 21, 1978, and instead I was sent a CD of the actual concert. Did these fuckers think I don’t already own a bootleg of that concert? What kind of fan do they take me for?) At the store I found a pair of pants that seemed adequate (They were New Balance, and I’m usually more of a Nike man, but I can change, can’t I?), sucked it up, and tried them on in the store. Two hours and 37 minutes later, after simulating in the dressing room every possible position I reach during a workout as well as most positions I use in casual conversation (both standing and sitting) and even the various ways I sit in a cab in case it starts raining during a workout and I have to take one home from the gym, I decided the pants were a go. And at $21.49, not a bad value either. So I bought them and headed back to the TSP household, which brings the story to an end.

Why am I telling you all this?

The better question is, why did you read all this?

Joke’s on you, sucka!

And now, today’s Friday 10…

Keep the Sticking Point parodies coming. As long as Brian's or ten times shorter -- I promise to publish them all.*

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Rockin' Bones by Dawson, Ronnie

* This is not a guarantee.