My arms are skinny, and I want them to be muscular, so I've embarked on a mission to beef them up a bit. I won't be using steroids or anything as gauche as that (after all, W made a pretty persuasive case against steroids in his last SOTU address, didn't he?). My inspiration in this endeavor will be Linda Hamilton, as seen in Terminator 2. She is my muse of all things muscular.

Since mid-February, I've been lifting weights for an hour twice a week, and for about ten minutes a day the other five days. Over the past month, I've learned all about rotary lats, bicep curls, tricep extensions, and how you can't do any arm work at all without your shoulder muscles getting all bulbous and freaky like a couple of jet engines under the skin. I can see the difference already, but I'm not yet at the point where I can confidently hold a grenade launcher and face-off with an evil, morphing robot that camouflages itself as its victims. I'm not comfortable shouting macho catchphrases like "Fire in the hole, John!" and I'm not yet able to hold my own alongside a benevolent Future Governor sent from the future to assist me. I will be able to do these things, mark my words, and then the human race will no longer have to worry its pretty little head over the consequences of its own technological irresponsibility.

Also, it's clear that my personality needs a few tweaks. Although it's possible to be absurdly strong and gentle as a bunny at the same time (float like a butterfly, sting like a bee), it's more fun to have an attitude that matches the muscles. To complement my new physique, I'll need a personality that's intense, angry, even borderline psychotic. I'll be listening to the comedy of Louis Black and putting Cannibal Corpse back in the CD player. Anything that gets me worked up. I've got to be like Sergeant Riggs in the first Lethal Weapon—manic, unstable, and always on the brink of a violent outburst. I've got to be Samuel L. Jackson on a bad day.

This could be fun. :)

So, when the robots finally do send one of their own back to find John Connor, I'll be ready for him. "Have you seen this boy?" he'll demand, at which point I'll pull out the grenade launcher, slide up my shirt sleeves, and say, "No. But have you seen my incredibly muscular arms?"

And then I'll take him down with my swinging fist, like Popeye after throwing back an entire can of spinach, and that'll be the end of all that robot apocalypse nonsense.

Tags: lapsus