His college ex's husband was jacked. So Jacked that he changed his name, legally, to Jack. No first name or last name. Only a single name.
Jack
.
He was so
jacked
that his doctor suggested he donate his body to science.
"Don't worry. You would still be alive. It's less like donating your organs and more like donating your
blood
."
"What do I get out of it?"
"You get to help society."
"Deal!"
The deal was that the scientists would incise slabs of muscle flesh out of Jack's thighs, shoulders, and arms. Then he would be given a period of time to bulk back up. And then which he would donate some more of his muscle.
The muscle would be gifted to a winner of the meat lottery. A lottery only available to those who qualified for the government run fat injection program. Many of those people couldn't afford enough food. So they got fat donated to them. While this kept them alive, it meant they craved meat.
Because of benevolent donors such as Jack, a lucky family was chosen each week to eat some flesh.
Godot hated that son of a bitch. Jack. So buff that he could donate muscle to the poor. Godot was a skinny flat assed white boy. Sure he wasn't so poor that he needed fat injections from the government, but not rich enough to be able to bulk up. Like that mother fucker Jack.
One day maybe he might make enough money to afford protein. Bulk up. Then he would also donate muscle. By then maybe he would get over his ex. Is that the only way to get over an ex? To overcome the insecurities that existed when you were with them? Could that even be considered overcoming? Or was that just a form of remaining stuck.
These were the questions his therapist asked. They weren't actually questions because the prescriptions that she was upholding were obvious by the questions.