I was a wimp. All around the school I was known as the shortest, smallest, weakest, and least athletically prodigious kid there was. The word “wimp” had bounced around in my mind like the DVD symbol on an inactive player screen ever since Sheila Ginsburg exposed me as one in homeroom back in September. I was new in town and at school, I only tried to ask her a question about where a classroom was. But instead she called me the name that echoed in the hallways and attracted to me like a magnet whenever I went by. I thought the name would fade away after a week, but Sheila wore the freshest Limited Too clothes you could come by, so her word was law in the school.

What made matters worse was that my father had just come off an extended tour in the Army, so he was home to see my disappointing excuse of a body. He shook his head in disgust as he showed me various pictures to me of himself at the same age, benching 215, getting flanked by two perfect 10 babes, and participating in chariot races in Ancient Rome. This life of adventure, pleasure, and sacrifice is the one my father led, and he was determined to bulk me up before the rendezvous in the summer with his platoon mates.

With the punishment of daily beatings, I was to go to the gym 7 days a week, no questions asked. Because my father had friends in the NSA, he was able to track me at all times, whether it be on my phone, at traffic cameras, or at the gym itself. I went to the gym for over a month with little result. But then I saw that as the offseason for basketball began Kristaps Porzingis and his huge dong started shooting around the gym a few times a week. Sometimes to take cuts, sometimes to bench 300, sometimes to hit deep threes with the chick we all stared at as she did squats. One day when he was there I finally mustered up the courage to ask the man for an autograph. Before he obliged he asked me why I was such a scrawny wimp. I responded because I could not pump iron at the rate my father wanted me to. I was a disappointment to my family, my community, the state, and the New York Knicks. Porzingis said that he would help me out with the situation I was in, and I was elated. First he disabled all of the cameras in the gym and replaced them with a loop of activity. My father would probably notice eventually, but that wouldn’t matter. Next he told me to disable location services on my phone so he would notice. As we waited for my father to pounce in we prank called Sheila Ginsburg, and we recorded her slow mental deterioration as she cried when we told her Limited Too had gone out of business 8 years ago. As we sent the call to the whole school my father walked in in a ‘roid rage. As he muscled closer Porzingis assumed his super saiyan form and obliterated my father into oblivion. In the span of ten minutes my life had improved greatly, all thanks to the mighty Kristaps.

Kristaps Porzingis is the reason I work out.