The other day I ate an entire pizza. By myself. I've often thought about how bad overeating is, and why I no longer engage in it, but this experience transcended everything I know about food intake best practices, health and fitness, and oncoming stomach aches. This was about personal greatness. When I got halfway through I was surprised, and not just at how quickly the time had passed, but at the fact that I was still kinda hungry. I kept going, I pressed on. I'm halfway up the mountain; hell, I can't even see the basecamp anymore! Stay strong buddy. And I did. I realized as I was one bite away from the last slice that this is how a champion feels. A starting pitcher about to finish a perfect game. Standing on the mound, two outs left in the ninth, all those zeros lining the scoreboard. Your arm feels like it's about to fall off, the place is dead quiet cause everyone knows what you know and god-forbid you jinx it. You kick the loose dirt off your cleats, wind up and deliver a scorching fastball. Well I finished that pizza, the whole fucking thing. Afterwards I was so full I couldn't move. I had a terrible stomach ache but the triumph was intoxicating. Greatness. I had just brushed up against greatness, and though I might never have the motivation or reason to finish an entire pizza again, I'll always know that feeling.
Is it better than sex, you ask? It's exactly the fucking same. You're exhausted and sweaty. You've done something naughty, something you maybe shouldn't have done. You want to go to sleep immediately, but not before you hit the bathroom. You need a smoke. You're a little bit lightheaded and there's definitely an aroma. Someones gonna have to clean this mess up, you think. I gotta tell everyone, you think. All the details, where you got it, the size of her, how long it lasted, what the best part was, will there be any drycleaning involved, are you going to call again.
I learned that day that although Colonel Rhombus has more nerve endings than the rest of me, he isn't always the source of personal greatness. Although in the end, it always seems to be about him, or at least his arena of combat.
Is it better than sex, you ask? It's exactly the fucking same. You're exhausted and sweaty. You've done something naughty, something you maybe shouldn't have done. You want to go to sleep immediately, but not before you hit the bathroom. You need a smoke. You're a little bit lightheaded and there's definitely an aroma. Someones gonna have to clean this mess up, you think. I gotta tell everyone, you think. All the details, where you got it, the size of her, how long it lasted, what the best part was, will there be any drycleaning involved, are you going to call again.
I learned that day that although Colonel Rhombus has more nerve endings than the rest of me, he isn't always the source of personal greatness. Although in the end, it always seems to be about him, or at least his arena of combat.
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if we looked deeply enough into f. scott's personal history (and I can't say i have), we'd probably find that this quote was simply a veiled statement in support of being drunk as much as possible... here's to f. scott!