Rex Powerman

So the gym was closed today.  This probably seriously upset only two people: me, and PJ’s ex, a hot skinny girl with an eating disorder.  I am fond of her because 1) she’s asked me twice to help her with her RDLs, giving me a chance to stare hard at her ass without feeling self-conscious 2) she once referred to herself and me as “crazy people” (as compared to normal sane gymgoers).  Felt good.  I mean she’s 5’10, 125 lbs and works out for about 3 hours a day.  It’s like having Danny Trejo say conspiratorily to you, “You know…tough guys like us…”

Weight: 193.2 (unchanged)

Felt really tired and sluggish today.  Realized this is because I routinely ingest 300 mg of caffeine before my workouts.  Drank a whole pot of tea in 5 minutes after dinner because I was thirsty.  Didn’t help.

House Meme: (for this to make sense, you have to realize that my son’s real name is not actually Rex.  I mean it still won’t make sense, but too bad)  Sometimes when I’m bored, or when I’m feeling exuberant, I’ll announce to my wife that I want her to call me a new name.  Like “Honey!  From now on I want you to call me ‘The Sausage King of Chicago'”  or “Frank White” or any number of fanciful appelations.  My wife’s response is usually along these lines: “CAN YOU BE QUIET I’M WATCHING TV”

But lately I’ve been stuck on two names.  “Ace Masterson” and, especially, “Rex Powerman.”  I picture Ace Masterson as a fighter pilot/porn star.  Rex Powerman is definitely some sort of superhero, maybe like the Incredible Hulk but made of metal, painted red, white, and blue – and probably has a machine gun. My wife refuses to honor my wishes:  “IF YOU’RE GOING TO INTERRUPT MY SHOW AGAIN CAN IT AT LEAST NOT BE WITH THIS NONSENSE” 

My son also refuses to call me Rex Powerman.  Sometimes I rearrange the refrigerator letter magnets to spell this name, or write it on the dry erase board, and when he sees it, he gets angry and obliterates the words.

However, one time I let him reroll dice in Pokémon Monopoly in exchange for calling me it.  “Fine, you’re Rex Powerman,” he muttered.  Best day, ever. 

Alpha: Actually being Rex Powerman

Beta: Trying hard to get your wife and son to call you Rex Powerman.  Mostly failing.  Son grows up with memories of having a demented, alcoholic father, even though I rarely drink.

Gamma: Believing that you’re Rex Powerman.  Even in human form.


7 thoughts on “Rex Powerman

  1. My father and I would spend Saturday afternoons at the machine shop or he’d drop me off at the YMCA pool while he lifted, then he’d go to the licquor store and buy Newcastle Ale which he’d let me have a small cup of. On the way from the licquor store we’d either listen to 70s funk music or Texe Marrs and/or taped shortwave radio about the New World Order and the Illuminati.

  2. Pingback: Bookman | Coach's Blog

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