Eat Your Vegetables

"Help ! I've fallen and I cant get -" off went the television as Mr Jones the elderly man clicked his remote . He hated infomercials . They were stupid . He thought it silly how people of his age were already so weak . But oh no, not him . He thought of himself as the near equivalent of Michelangelo's greatest sculpture.  

He slowly rose from his recliner , gripping the leather a little too tight to lift himself up . He smiled at himself feeling the soreness of his muscles . If they were sore , then it meant that his new workout regime was difficult enough . Walking his 76 year old frame to the pantry , he took out his favourite protein powder and greenest kale vegetables. The more bitter the better . He plugged in his juicer and threw the protein scoops in with his nasty greens with a loud wrestler grunt . He obviously lived alone . He never married or even bothered to . He was too vain and in love with himself and his ripped 8 pack . He found women to be weak and fragile just like the carrots he breaks in order to squeeze into the juicer . Psht , women . Who needs em . All he needed was his juicer and personalised gym . His neighbours avoided shaking his right hand for these reasons . Hand sanitiser was a must if anyone lived within a ten mile radius of this guy .  

His hobbies included watching WWE in his spare time and working out a full 60 minute cardio twice a day . His regime puts Insanity to shame . He hated those infomercials too . Bunch of sissies prancing around trying to get a flimsy 4 pack . Weaklings . Any other day he'd go to the arena and wrestle with men half his age only to ruthlessly cripple them in his choke holds . And if he wasn't there , he was at the gym lifting anything over 180 pounds - per arm . And on his free days , he spent his time polishing his Best Body trophies and wrestling belts .  

Today was one of those days . With all the 23 windowsill trophies shined enough to blind an oncoming sidewalk pedestrian , he was just stuffing his juicer with those over refrigerated vegetables . ZZZEEEEEEEAAM went the carrots as he forced them in one by one.

*ring ring* He stopped his vegetable massacre for a moment as he went over to pick up the receiver. "HUMPH" he answered.

"Hello Mr. Jones, it is Stan from the gym. We were thinking if you could maybe help us in our charity raise for children in need."

"HUMPH. Children in need?!" boomed Mr. Jones into the phone.

"Eh, y-yes. See, we want to help orphans."

"Orphans! HA! What makes you think I would like to help those snot-nosed brats! They're orphans because no one wants them!"

"Now listen here, Mr. Jones, think of any grandch-"

"HA! GRANDCHILDREN?!" He guffawed into the receiver. "Son, if I don't want a weak woman, what makes you think i'm going to want little snot-nosed brats running around! I hate children! i hate orpahns! Waste of space!"

Very offended, Stan replies, "Mr. Jones! What a rude statement. My wife has just overheard that! You know Mr. Jones, you may be Apollo incarnated, but it does not give you the right to be so haughty! One day you're going to get a taste of your own hate! Good day."

Off went the line, and Mr. Jones did nothing but laugh even harder. Stan honestly thought something was going to get him. He hit the counter not being able to hold in his laughter. Such a weakling! He could snap his neck in seconds! With tearing eyes, Mr. Jones walked to the cupboard and took out a overly ripe banana. He carelessly stripped the skin off and threw it behind him. He walked back over to his machine and stuck the banana in. Suddenly, all laughter ceased. His amusement turned into outrage.

How could someone like Stan even dare say that about him! He was a GOD. He rushed toward his trophies, grabbed all his wrestling belts and roared like the animal he was. "NO ONE IS STRONGER THAN JONES. NO ONE! EVERYONE BOWS DOWN TO ME. I AM SUPERIOR." He raised his belts high and proceeded toward the kitchen.

"I AM THE CHAMPION. YOU ARE ALL PUNY LITTLE-" Suddenly Mr. Jones fell backward in one swift motion, eyes rolling back in his head. The back of his neck hit the kitchen counter and snap his neck went. Mr. Jones was on the floor. Dead.