“I’m Santa Claus, and I’ve got a little something in my sack for all the good girls out there…if you know what I mean. Do you? Are you catching my drift here? It’s a double entendre with a sexual connotation. “Sack” could refer to a bag filled with toys—the kind Santa Claus carries. But because of the fact that I’m young and handsome and making no attempt to actually look like Santa, except for the hat and collar, “sack” could be referring to my underpants, and the little something, my penis. Except it’s not little, at all. It’s very big actually. Anyway, as it turns out, my sack is indeed a big bag filled with toys. I’m a eunich.”
Good ol’ gramps. Of course, we make sure to keep him confined to a dark room most of the time, where we force-feed him bran products. But every now and then the daft buzzard manages to slip out of his shackles and make his way to the basement, where we’ll find him flailing away at an enema filled with his own urine. Crazy coot! We do love him though, and boy can he take a punch!
Gabe viewed the ad with some skepticism at first, but after getting to the part about feeling “like Superman,” was hooked. After all, what red-blooded male doesn’t want to pretend that he’s strong, without actually having strength? And is there a guy alive who wouldn’t want to be able to hump a plank upon which seven sturdy men sit, while remaining a total weakling?!
Was it the hat? No, it couldn’t be! The mustache, perhaps? Impossible! But why then, was it that the ladies didn’t seem to fancy Chet the way his grandmother wished they would? Just then it struck him, like a long, hard bolt of lightning! Indeed, there was someone who could answer the question that has stumped him, his grandmother, his hairdresser, and all the members of his glee club for so long: He would ask Bob, his bed-mate!
“In his latest coming of age novel, ‘Muscle Boy,’ author James L. Summers provides a poignant, yet ultimately cautionary, tale of a young man whose poor form in the deadlift leads to a lifetime of chronic lower back pain, and ultimately an infrequent dependence on Ibuprofen, hot compresses, and even chiropractic adjustments. This riveting drama should serve as a wakeup call to everyone who fails to bend at the knees when lifting a weight off the floor.”
– The New York Times Review of Books