Vignette: Bodybuilder Bash

2015 Was the best blog year to date

BUT JUST WAIT!

Welcome to 2016: The Year of the Mule 

THINGS I KNOW:

NYE second only to Feb 14 as one of the most challenging days of the year in terms of harem management... 

From poster advertising the Bodybuilder Bash

Each spring, I throw a huge Bodybuilder Bash at my “mansion” Casa del Mule. Only bodybuilders and cardio bunnies are allowed to attend, and they are flown in from all over the world to be there…o.k. I exaggerate a “tad”. they be from all over the Triangle. This year, I was determined to make it the most legendary of them all, and I think it’s safe to say I succeeded.

I called up Optimum Nutrition about their bulk rate for whey and had them bring in two dump-trucks full of protein powder, which was dumped on my front yard. Also, I called up a supplement company in Ukraine, makers of a top secret Creatine which is 700% more volumizing than creatine monohydrate.

Each bodybuilder who showed up was required to bring with him a minimum of 10 cardio bunnies. I sent my MAIN girlfriend out of town with her friends (who were doing double duty as my side chicks) for the weekend. This was some opportunity for Mule to explore some greener pastures.

The party was a huge success. I was sick of going out to the club and seeing AFC’s* in Abercrombie t-shirts and flip flops with 12 inch biceps peeking out. No, this was different. Everyone was sledding down the mountains of whey and having a good time. Lex gave me a thumbs up before crushing up some ZMA pills and snorting them off a random cardio bunny’s tits.

Lex: Your muscles must be this big to get in this party.
 Beat it AFC!

I lat flared it over to the bar area (I hired a bartender for the night’s festivities) “Creatine and vodka, on the rocks” I snarled at him. He reached under the bar and pulled out a jar of CELL-TECH. I grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the floor. “I want the good stuff. Get that shit out of here.”  He nodded and meekly managed to whimper out a “Yes, Sir” as a stain spread down his pants leg.  “Fucking clean yourself up, Dude, you are a frickin’ disgrace.”   “Yes Mr. Mule, yes Sir” he squeaked obsequiously.  The bartender was a guy with 15 inch biceps, imagine my effect on 12s!

At this point I was approached by a smokin’ hot cardio bunny. “Mistah Mule, I presume” she said in a sultry Eastern European accent. “I hear you are zee Alpha Male, no?”

Me: “You heard correctly.”

CB: “I am so very thirsty. Vould you get me a drink?”

Now, any AFC* off the street would have fallen for this, but not Mule. I knew her game; there’s very few of them in the world but it was obvious I was dealing with an Alpha Female, very rare (less than .001% of human females are Alpha Females). This was obviously a fuck test.

Me: “Get it yourself. I’ve got a party to attend to.” I walked away from her and climbed into the hot tub with another group of 7 or 8 cardio bunnies, who proceeded to feel on my 19 inch pythons. The Alpha Female, after getting her beverage, joined me in the jacuzzi.  The other CBs were mean mugging her with dagger eyes.

AF: “You have zee big arms, Mistah Mule.”

CB3: That is Lord Mule, show some proper respect- sniped one of the CB randoms

AF: “My apologies Lord Mule, I meant no disrespect for zee man wid zee bulging biceps!”

Me: “Pretty big jugs you got yourself, cupcake.”

AF: “Aye. I hate zis music. Vould you mind going to zee DJ and requesting a change for me?”

I raised my eyebrow. A second fuck test? I really was dealing with an Alpha Female. “You don’t like the fuckin’ music, go ask yourself. What do I look like, a fuckin’ AFC* here?” I snarled at her.  I then began seriously making out with not one, not two, but three of the random CBs, completely ignoring the Natasha.

About a half hour later, she approached again. “Lord Mule, I vant to get it on now. Meet me in zee upstairs bedroom and you can put it in my ass.”

To your AFC* off the street, he would jump at the opportunity. But I could see this was a THIRD fuck test, and a very good one at that, which can be executed only by ELITE Alpha Females.

I pulled her close to me and spoke right into her face, close enough that she could smell the natty PB and tuna fish on my breath. “Look. If I give you the pleasure of sleeping with me, it’s gonna be on my terms, when I want it, how I want it, what positions I want it. Got that SWEET CHEEKS?”

She jumped into my arms. “Amazing! You are ZEE first to pass all three of my FUCK tests. PLEASE FUCK me, LORD MULE, I beg you!” We went at it for about an hour in the pool house.

FAF:  (hearts spinning around her head)  “Oh my Lord Mule. We are perfect for each other. Alpha Male, Alpha Female, it’s a match made in heaven! Let’s get married and have children! I want you, only you forever more. There is no one for me but LORD MULE!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This supposed Alpha Female had turned AFC* and lost most of her accent within a matter of minutes. “What do you want from me? Diamond earrings? A gold ring that says ‘Mrs. Mule?”. I lit up a cigar. “You want a minivan so we can pick up the kids at soccer practice, take ‘em to Denny’s? You’re looking in the wrong place, cupcake.”

FAF: “But Lord Mule, I love you! I need you, I would die without you!”  She had hearts in her eyes, and the stench of stage 5 clinger about her.

I took a puff of my cigar. “Look baby. We’re different people. You want a white picket fence and a garden, I want wife beaters, cardio bunnies, fast cars, big pythons, crowbars. It wouldn’t work.”

I threw on my aviators and flared my lats.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to attend to.” I walked back to the party while she sobbed softly in the pool house looking around for cutting tools for her wrists.

I was making out with this hot random CB who had taken to licking my face. When suddenly I woke up on the floor, Mongo’s pitbull Fang was licking my face.  Well at least it wasn’t Mongo licking my face. The place was seriously trashed, musclemen and sloots were passed out all over the place and the joint was littered with pizza boxes, red plastic Dixie cups, used condoms and scattered articles of clothing.  It might not have been the party as visualized in my alcohol-inspired dreams, but it looks like it was just as much fun.  If only I could remember it, and that God damn guy would stop jackhammering my head.

****************************************************************************

AFC: Please go out with me, please, pretty please 

Bish: I wonder what MULE is doing, 

I should text him...

*AFC (from Urban Dictionary)

Average Frustrated Chump: A guy who lacks skills, and confidence when it comes to women.  He will often end up in the “friend zone” because he obeys girls like a slave.  An AFC in a bar with gorgeous women who sit in the corner, and ask himself “why aren’t they coming up to me.”  When he should be going up to them, but won’t, because he lacks confidence.