A guy I met at the school gymnasium again proved this eternal truth; he convinced me deeply by making a pitiful spectacle of himself. Upon entering the gym he kept bragging,"I used to do the body-building a lot,"as he strutted toward me with anothet guy, raving lavishly about his past good old feats. I frowned, preparing myself for an unpleasant experience to come. However, a swelling balloon stands no prickle. At first, he kept fumbling with the sports equipment, apparently unable to move the bar an itch; provoked by my silent sneer, as well as thunderous sigh behind, he jumped to a stupid conclusion, "Poor machine!" To save his face in front of his embarassed friend, who tried hard to stifle his doubt, he provoked me back in an explicit way,"Fifty kilograms? Child's play!" I swallowed down the possibility of a conflict, doing sit-ups elsewhere. Then, he rolled up his sleeves, exposed his stick-lean arms, and got ready for a "Man's play." Ridiculously enough, his arms shivered terribly, as though a fit of stroke, and his face crumpled into a crushed pulp. But nothing moves: his body quivered thorough, but the equipment did not answer to its feeble user. What a scene. His friend, along with me, tried extremely hard to check a burst of wild, indeed cruel, laughs. But our uncontrollably trembling body, induced by the backlash of containing natural reaction, betrayed our kind-hearted intention. With an awkward labor to turn the tide, he picked up his basketball and began dribbling. The scene was equally too ghastly to look at: he literally murdered the "graceful power" of basketball. At that moment, I almost volunteered to teach him, with an eye to protecting others' eyes. After the laborious struggles, he revealed unconsciously his tiredness by proposing to his friend a big snack later,"It's so boring here; I'm hungry enough to eat a horse!" That's right, buddy! Take something to fill your emptiness. --

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