Monday, March 26, 2012

Sophy's Choice


So there we were playing on Friday, when Sophy had the game on pause to strip out of his lycra tight top. I notice this bariatric dude stop in his tracks and do a double-take on Sophy’s chiseled torso. As sophe struts to the side of the court to put his spandex shirt aside, this mesmerized man feasts his eyes on dark succulent flesh. Then he looks down at his hand which is holding a delicious half eaten drum stick, then he looks again to this Asian Adonis, back to his drum stick then back to Adonis. And I see, registering in his face, this painful computation, "Sophy’s Choice", the choice between gluttonous goodness of ice cream packed into a crispy cone with a plug of chocolate lodge deep in the conical terminus or a body packed, tight and right and ripped in an evolutionary pattern programmed to make women swoon and men irate. The big man takes one more long look at Delish (Sophy) and decides. He lowers the cone and gingerly holds it with fingertips away from this waistline as if it is an embarrassing turd that his schnauzer excreted on his neighbors lawn. He walks away toward the garbage can, holding his head a bit higher, his gut sucked in, and his posteriors marching to the tune of "Yes I can!".


Editor's Note:Truth is Sophy's diet consists primarily of Beer and Pizza. He burns a lot of calories chasing tail in Ballard dive bars.


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