There’s been a lot of negative talk about steroids in sports recently, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. If you ask me, there is nothing cooler than steroids — they make you stronger and more awesome. It’s like becoming a superhero without having to deal with the mess of gamma rays or a radioactive spider bite.
I’ve always wanted to be stronger and more awesome, and when I found out steroids would grant my wish, I couldn’t wait to start taking them. I like me, but I’m pretty sure I would love me on steroids.
There is a rumor floating around, however, that steroids have potentially nasty side effects. I wasn’t too worried about it, but just to be on the safe side I decided to secretly test the drug on one of my roommates for a couple of weeks.
I secretly injected steroids into my roommate Mike’s right butt cheek while he slept. He’s a heavy sleeper, especially when I sing “Yellow Submarine” to him, so I never feared the needle going into his bum would wake him.
Mike awoke the first morning in his usual fashion. At about 10 a.m., he rolled out of bed and blew his nose. Judging by the sounds (I was listening at the door), it was a normal nose blow. He sat at his computer and typed, humming “Yellow Submarine” to himself. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
I continued to shoot Mike’s bum up with ‘roids over the next couple days. He made no complaints and acted relatively normal. I decided to question him and see if anything at all was up.
“Hey, Mike, how you feeling?” I asked as I nonchalantly took his blood pressure.
“You know,” Mike shrugged.
Mike scratched his head and pulled a tuft of hair out. He shrugged again and tossed it behind the couch.
“Nothing out of the ordinary or anything?” I asked, now checking his retinas with a flashlight.
“What the hell is going on?” Mike replied as he followed my finger from left to right.
I told him I was simply goofing around with some borrowed medical instruments. The answer satisfied Mike, and he went to go shower, completely healthy and unaware.
I continued with the nightly rear injection for the rest of the week. Mike seemed fine. He did yell at his wall for 45 minutes two nights in a row, but I’m fairly certain the wall deserved it. Other than a slightly higher voice and a few brief episodes of intense shedding, he had no problems.
“Zack, I have a problem,” Mike said on the eighth day. He took a seat across from me in the living room, sitting in a peculiar slanted position.
“Yes, Mike? Feel stronger? Faster?” I couldn’t contain my excitement.
“Kinda, I guess,” Mike said with a sad, high-pitched tone of voice. “I haven’t worked out in a few months, though, so not really.”
He hasn’t worked out? No wonder he didn’t look physically different . . .
“Interesting, Mike. Go on.” I made sure he couldn’t see me jot down some notes.
“It’s really weird, but for some reason half of my bum has tripled in size.”
Mike stood up and turned around. Sure enough, the left cheek looked normal, while the right had ballooned to Beyonce/J.Lo proportions. I had never stared at my roommate’s bum for so long.
“Well, Mike,” I said, “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure everything will work itself out.”
Mike thanked me for the kind words of support, punched a hole in the wall and went to the bathroom to verbally assault his towel. I could tell something was different, and I had a feeling the steroids might be responsible.
Later that night I injected the other side of Mike’s rear with a double dosage. Mike stirred and scratched his head, but did not wake. I shook my head at him in disgust — his pillowcase had hair all over it, and there’s just no excuse for that sort of uncleanliness.
I continued the injections over the next couple of days, and although Mike’s bum remained gigantic, it leveled out to a socially acceptable level. Mike seemed pleased with his new backside and celebrated by head-butting his door in half.
The final day of Mike’s secret steroid injections ended with a party at our apartment. Friends from all circles arrived and instantly raved about Mike’s new bum and bald head. Mike became the life of the party when he threw his flat-screen TV out the window and knocked me unconscious with a stuffed animal. Everyone agreed Mike had never been so cool.
The next morning I told Mike about my experiment. He yelled at me for a while, but once I reminded him how cool he had become he warmed up to the idea. Now all my roommates and I take steroids with our meals and before bedtime, and we have never been stronger, cooler or closer as friends.
Still have a problem with steroids? Come talk to my roommates and me. We’re pretty easy to spot on the street — just look for three bald guys with huge bums, holding hands and head-butting street signs.
Zach Poitras, a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at zpoitras@bu.edu.
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