Never Failing to Get Bigger
Dear Mr MuscleGod (or may I call you "Steel"?)
I would like, very much, to lick every inch of your hard, billowy body, while you grunt insults at me in your thick unplaceable accent (though it's Romanian, I assume, now that I have read your profile).
If I could only be as huge and marvelous as you, I would like, even more, to call you outside for a fight, a wrestling match of monumental proportions (somethingamazing) not seen since the golden heroic age of Herakles and Antaeus. We would grab our T-shirts in our clenched fists and peel them off our massive chests as if they were made of wet kleenex. Then we would charge each other like two rankled bulls in heat. If fortune should shine on us, perhaps a light shower would then begin, and the rain would speckle then varnish our naked flesh until it shone like glazed Lladro figurines of Olympic gods.
I hate the haters who have hindered your postings to YouTube, who cannot accept that you are just way better than they. I hope they rot of cancer, and their blackened, fetid bones fall to the earth, where even the hungry packs of hyenas won't touch them. Give me their names, Mr MuscleGod, I'll take care of everything, and you will have nothing to worry about ever again.
Except for me.
For, yes, it is I who would dare to challenge your perfection, my cumulous friend. Don't tell me, "Come and get your muscles today," unless you really mean it, bro. Don't dare me to step over that line! It is I who will squeeze those marble biceps until they crumble and crunch like eggshells. It is I who will ram my balled-up fist to your eight-pack--or do I now detect ten round ab muscles?--oh my Christ!--and then aim for that navel cut more perfectly than any diamond ever known to mankind ... and it is I who will contribute to your getting huge and ever ... more ... perfect, even while I paint these knuckles of mine with your sneering eastern-bloc lips.
Look into these eyes, SteelMuscleGod! You have to deal with me.
Yours till the big showdown,