He let out a loud belch about half a second after I walked in. The counters were a disaster zone, littered with jagged eggshells and empty protein cartons that looked like they’d been tossed by a bored giant. His back was mostly turned to me, revealing a pair of pink Hello Kitty boxer briefs stretched to their absolute limit over his massive frame—the fabric was screaming for mercy.
In his hand, he gripped a heavy cast-iron skillet that looked like a toy in his palm. He was mid-headbanger anthem when he heard my footsteps. Turning with a grin that could light up a stadium, he chirped, "Hey bubba! I was a little hungry, so I got up to fix some breakfast."
I picked up one of the discarded cartons as he paused to rip the cap off another and down it in three massive gulps. I glanced at the label: 40 grams of protein and 260 calories.
"Dude, how many of these have you had?" I asked, staring at the growing pile.
"Oh man, only like…" He paused, actually using his fingers to track the math. "This is my fourth this morning? Yeah. Just a little something to keep me from wasting away before the real food is ready."
He turned back to the stove, where a ten-egg scramble was already mountain-high and sizzling in a pool of butter.
The Morning "Snack" Continues…
He scraped the massive pile of eggs onto a platter—not a plate, a literal serving platter—and shoveled a forkful into his mouth before he’d even sat down.
"You want some?" he mumbled through a mouthful of protein. "I could crack another dozen. I think we’ve still got some bacon in the fridge, but I was gonna save that for the pre-lunch snack."
I looked at the sink, which was already overflowing with more cartons, and then back at the Hello Kitty face currently being distorted by his quad muscles. It was barely 7:00 AM, and he had already consumed enough calories to power a small village for a week.
"I think I'll stick to coffee," I said, dodging a stray eggshell on the floor. "But at the rate you’re going, we’re gonna need to hit the grocery store by noon. And maybe a seamstress for those boxers."
He let out a booming laugh that shook the remaining cartons on the counter. "Size small was all they had left! Besides, they’re aerodynamic. Helps with the gains, bubba. Now, pass me that hot sauce—the big bottle, not the wimpy one."
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