What came first the tribal tatt or the string singlet? It’s a question that has plagued gym-kind for years. All we know is that there comes a time in every meatheads life when he must say bon voyage to his Jim Beam manboobs and show off his torso in an act of dominance.
Remember, pursuant to the laws of the gym jungle the singlet cannot be worn until the wearer has sufficient “gainz” to show off. See, the string singlet isn’t for any soft-bodied bunyip, it is a trophy and it’s only awarded to the biggest of game.
Once adorned with the singlet of power the wearer begins to grunt like he was Achilles when Patroclus had him by the heels. Each unnecessary exertion plunges the Greek donga of distraction deeper into your ear canal. Can this guy just shut up? No, no he can’t.
The symphony of sodomy aside, the wearer will also develop a crippling envy-complex within minutes of string singlet ownership. As if possessed, the wearer will start force feeding you inspirational quotes on Instagram like you were a French goose before a Foie Gras festival.
Of course, when served a Margarita of narcissism you always drink it down with a grain of salt. A big grain of salt. After all, there is only so much inspiration you can take from a guy whose biggest achievement is habitually attending a gym. If entering a 12-month contract at Jets doesn’t get you ‘mirin, what will?
Typically, the wearer will start referring to his workouts as “training”. As if his end goal isn’t just to be the best influencer totem pole at the next music festival.
To that end, core strength and all that bullshit ride shotgun to his intensive vanity muscle workouts. Basically, if it can’t be seen through a string singlet, it’s an irrelevant muscle.
While it may technically be possible to wear a string singlet without carrying around an oversized protein shaker, no one has ever tested the theory.
Why? Well, once one has attained string singlet status his body changes and only yearns for protein. A nutritional quirk that you will enjoy as he crop dusts the gym floor during his many patrols.
Only after every vein in his body is popping like a stressed out substitute teacher can the wearer begin the photo shoot. Looking like the chode of a blue-balled cuckold the wearer will take upwards of 100 photos in the quest for the ultimate Tinder profile pic.
Alas, don’t fall in love with him after he speed-roots you while looking at his arms in the mirror, because he’ll drop you faster than he drops a dumbbell on a crowded gym floor.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?