Kimbo & Minion
Gather round everybody. Please, Scoopers, scooch closer. Put on your XL Snuggie, curl up with your laptop and a mug of hot chocolate whey, and let me tell you the tale of Kimbo and Minion.
Call me Muscoli. I am a frequenter of the gym, a meaty man if I you will. And as such, I have grown accustomed to the company of other such gym goers. I see them frequently, their faces become familiar, and their character begins to emerge. This is a story about two such characters.
In a magical region known as “New England,” which is like the original England, except it is paradoxically more diverse while at the same time more racist (lookin’ at you, South). And in this magical land of New England, in one particular gym, at one particular time of the day, there are two guys who can always be seen training together at the gym.
The first man is LARGE, to say the least. Big, black, 6’4” Kimbo Slice looking motherfucker with a mean looking beard. And every where Kimbo goes, his sidekick follows. Kimbo’s sidekick is a scrawny, 5’6” Persian looking fellow with long, frizzy black hair tied back in an off-putting ponytail. Kimbo and his Minion only spoke to each other in French.
Now on this day, Kimbo is setting himself up for a set of Barbell Bench Press. He has loaded a 45lb plate onto either end of the bar, followed by nine 10 lb plates. The 10lb plates were stacked all the way out to the end of the Olympic bar.
Kimbo and Minion had spent so much time gathering the 10 lb plates from all over the gym, that gym staff had taken notice and come over to have words with the two. A gym employee, dressed in black athletic shorts and a black polo shirt with the words “Master Trainer” emblazoned upon the back, strides over to speak to Kimbo.
This “Master Trainer” is no small man. His sleeves are strained by the girth of his biceps, and his chest was filled with the confidence of a man who has put in his due time with the iron. Yet at a measly 6’1” he looked small next to Kimbo.
Master Trainer: "Excuse me sir, but could you please keep in mind that other patrons would like to use the 10 lb plates as well?"
Kimbo: "Of course."
Then, while maintaining eye contact with the trainer, Kimbo turns his head over his shoulder and calls back to Minion in his thick French accent, “Amar, help me take some of these plates off.”
Kimbo then goes, lies down on the bench, and with a loud grunt, lifts the 315 lb bar off the rack, and starts pressing the bar, each rep
accompanied by a loud grunt. 1…
GAH! 2…
AH! 3…
AH!
When he finally reaches failure, he racks the weight with the help of Minion. Minion then runs from end to end and sheds a 10 lb plate, splashing it on the floor. Kimbo starts pressing again. With each rep his grunts and shouts of exertion grow louder! Nearly everybody in the weight room has stopped what they were doing and are peering over at the Bench Press Rack to catch a glimpse of this most glorious spectacle.
Minion sheds another 10 lb plate, Kimbo presses the bar. This repeats until all eighteen 10lb plates are littered across the floor. Completing about 4-5 reps at each weight, this whole process took almost 2 minutes. The sound of the weights dropping on the floor seemed to harmonize with Kimbo’s shouts, culminating in a cacophony of testosterone that had gawking gym goers rolling their eyes with admiration.
Then it was over, and there was silence…
Kimbo stands up, a towering behemoth of a man, and gazes around at the destruction he has caused. Then he looks at the Master Trainer (who hasn’t moved yet), and calmly says, "You can use the weights now."
He then strides off, leaving everyone in aw, and his minion scampering around picking up 10 lb plates off the floor.
I think my dick actually got smaller watching this all happen. Kimbo had out alpha-ed the most alpha male. I beta go home and rethink my life goals.
-Tony “Too Small” Muscoli
