Put that donut down. Donuts are for closers. What were you thinking? Did you honestly think that deep fried dough covered in glaze, sprinkles and broken dreams was in any way beneficial to your health? You haven’t earned that sugary treat yet! Oh and if your partner says your perfect just the way you are, it’s because they are too damn lazy to make any improvements to themselves.
SHAME! IT WORKS! Don’t let anyone ever tell you different. Now we awkwardly segue to how pleasantly surprised I was after showing up to a packed house at the John Hancock Theater in Boston. However, I will openly admit that after five hours of prejudging the contestants I was tired of staring at ass, abs and chests…and the ladies hadn’t even hit the stage yet.
It was 6pm and I was exhausted from watching competitors being exhausted. So I went home, only to pick up my photographer and return two hours later for the finals and snap over 250 photos of people flexing their muscles almost through the pores of their ultra tanned skin. Imagine 1500 spectators, 500 competitors, and one amateur writer sitting in Row C in front of a recently defeated competitor whose displeasure with the judges branded itself onto this persons face for the remainder of the evening. Normally the crowd accepts the verdict and applauds the winners, but not this time. A heckler was born that evening…directly behind me. I had a good laugh over his displeasure, the judges not so much. So what’s the big deal? Was it politics? Were the judges inexperienced? Consider spending half your life fine tuning every part or your physique like your own custom-made ride on the Nürburgring race track only to be passed by some young prick in a Porsche. Can you even pronounce ‘Nürburgring’? Can I? Who cares? The fact is that someone lost that evening and maybe shouldn’t have. Thankfully, this isn’t American Idol. Most of these premier physical specimens belonged on that stage and just the thought of their training and diet regimens are tiring me out.
Despite the competitor turnout being more than double from last years event, a crowded stage couldn’t hide the noticeable few that not only were “loose” with their training regiment, but were flat out disgusting when the bright lights made their cellulite all the more visible. Maybe if I was twelve Heinekens deep in a dimly lit bar at three AM, but not when I’m caffeine sober with front row seats to your inevitable embarrassment. My primitive side was quietly hoping for a public stoning. Do I sound shallow and abrasive? Well…kiss my ass. You don’t like the truth; write your own goddamn article. Just because you participated doesn’t earn you a trophy. I deserve a trophy just for looking at you.
Allow me to address the men’s physique class for a moment. What’s with the capri-like swim trunks? Every other class has to rock a slingshot that barely covers the crack of their ass, so why not the men’s “bikini” class? It’s only fair in my opinion that if the males in the bodybuilding class are judged by their overall proportions, than so should the physique class. It’s a small issue, so I’ll eventually get over it.
  Something that does give me a sliver of hope for the human race is how many competitors there were this time. Despite a few fatties with chocolate on their faces, the women’s bikini class was overwhelmed with worthy contestants and the master’s class (35 & over) put on a great showing as I muttered “Jesus Christ” in awe well over twenty times during the event.
One final thing to appreciate about this event, everyone has the opportunity to display their greatness. Whether you’re sixty years old or Octo-mom, if you listen to your trainer and do exactly what they tell you, the chance to shine on stage and establish a better lifestyle financially costs a lot less than over-processed foods and type-two diabetes. Start Stretching.