I’ve never been a strong man, physically-speaking. One Christmas, my wife bought me a weighted blanket, and after she laid it on top of me, I was unable to move for a fortnight.

However, I do believe I have a sort of emotional resilience. Many men might be embarrassed to have been bested by a weighted blanket, but not me. No, once the police officer released me from my two-week confinement under the blanket, I thanked her and expressed my gratitude in the form of $1000. She said that police officers can’t accept tips, but I insisted. She said it wasn’t allowed, yet I persisted, and I kept persisting. However, I’m not an unreasonable man, and I relented after she put the weighted blanket back on.

Despite all of my reason, I have no other choice but to free myself from my physical shortcomings through P90X in order to beat up Tony Horton, the creator of P90X, a DVD exercise routine I first encountered from an infomercial while I was stuck under the weighted blanket.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t take such an issue with Mr. Horton. He’s a respectable businessman with a rock-hard ass, an attribute I appreciate in my businessmen. That being said, I don’t appreciate him shaking his moneymaker on my television set to the tune of four easy payments of $19.95. Yet, he has continued to shake that tush in front of my wife for 30-40 minutes per day every day.

I thought it was nice at first. A little exercise never hurt anyone. At least until it broke my heart. My wife started spending more time with her beloved “Tony” than she did with me, all because of his commanding stage presence and knowledge of basic human anatomy.

His exercise tapes have hypnotized my wife into caring more about her rocket launcher squats than remembering to refill my tear-free shampoo. Her whole life has become about Tony Horton, and that makes me need a tear-free shampoo even more. I can hardly recognize her, both because her face has become muscular and because she isn’t acting at all like the woman I married. Her entire style has changed. No more baggy sweaters. Only Lululemon-branded sweaters. I hate it.

What does Tony Horton have that I don’t? Muscles? Ok. Three middle-aged people sweating around him? Fine. A studio audience that just watches all of these people work out in complete silence? Sure. But are those all exclusive to him? Not necessarily.

He got his muscles, his sweaty 40-year-olds, his studio audience, and my wife all from completing 30-minute television workouts every day for 90 days. If logic serves, all I have to do is stare into the eyes of the man who stole my wife every day for a half-hour (except rest days), then I will steal his strength. Then all that he has will be mine. I will cease being a weak spineless man and become a muscle-bound behemoth with a smile that says, “I get dental insurance through SAG-AFTRA.”

I will oust this false king, this usurper, this snake from my castle, and regain my rightful place on the throne next to my sore, sweaty wife. And there is only one way to get rid of a snake: with your muscles.

Once Mr. Horton sees my bulbous ass, he will have no choice but to relinquish his television studio filled with silent observers and his middle-aged lackeys over to me. And I will star in my own infomercials on QVC but without the production value and the athletic know-how. I will not renew the streaming contract and I will sell his remaining DVDs to elementary schools where either they will be banned for being inappropriate for children, or they will create an army of buff kids that are loyal to Tony Horton without his knowledge or consent. He will be blamed for removing the cuddliness from our nation’s first graders. And Tony Horton will become a pariah.

He took my love, so then I will not rest until I take his love and render it unrecognizable. Then my wife will respect me, because if there’s anything I know women respect, it’s convoluted schemes and persistence.

My wife will be bowing into downward dog not for some tanned Adonis but for me, in the comfort of our own living room, with a water break halfway through. It’s only a matter of time. Once I get freed from under this weighted blanket, I’m going to find him and fight him. Just any day now.

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