February 02, 2001
Issue #32

CASTAWAY: STARRING THE CAST OF ANABOLIC EXTREME
by Grendel

I lay, tossing and turning, in my bed…my stomach rumbled, angrily digesting another protein shake. Beads of sweat clung to my brow and beneath shut lids, my dreaming eyes twitched.

On board our chartered plane, the crew of Anabolic Extreme lounged about. Jason thumbed through his copy of Chicken Little and Derek was dissecting a beetle for its anabolic internal organs. Carol was in the bathroom with her makeup, preparing for her arrival in Thailand even though it was still 12 hours away. From beneath us, we heard The Blonde Myth in the luggage compartment; in order to save money Jason had shoved him into a large suitcase. It was a merry crew that had set sail for Thailand.

Hours into the flight the turbulence began as we struck a storm front blowing off the Asian mainland. The plane tossed like a doll in the grips of an angry child and lightening seemed to strike all around us. I pulled my duffle bag closer to me and tightened my belt. All of a sudden it felt like the plane hit a bump then the freefall began. Outside, the lightening illuminated the stormy water below as the plane continued its fall.

The impact was harsh and the plane snapped in two. Water filled the cabin as we struggled towards the surface. Swimming quickly, we pulled away from the sinking plane. Looking around in the black night, lighted only by burning gasoline floating on the waves, I saw my fellow survivors. Jason treaded water, as did Carol and Derek. The Blonde Myth was nowhere to be seen, but there was no time for tears. It quickly became apparent we could not sustain ourselves long on the open sea; we would need some floatation device. Unfortunately none of us had managed to grab anything that could be of much use. Derek began planes to extract hydrogen from the water around us and inflate several blowfish, thus keeping us afloat. It seemed hopeless until we noticed Jason floating happily on his back. His steady diet of heavy androgens had so bloated his body that he appeared to be almost hovering above the water. Holding on the Jason’s soft and squishy body we paddled off into the dark night, away from the burning wreck of the plane.

The sun rose and set, rose and set, and rose again before we saw land. It has been almost 100 hours since we had last eaten and tempers were high. Jason and I were eying Derek hungrily while he tried his best to convince us to eat plankton. He kept telling us about the amazing anti-catabolic properties but we were not convinced. When we saw the first bright dot of the island we began to paddle harder until at last we collapsed into the soft sand.  

Carol recovered first and began to look for food, soon returning with coconuts and claiming to have found a source of clean spring water. As we ate our strength slowly returned but the realization soon dawned that we were stranded, thousands of miles away from friends, home, and the gym.

Having established a source of food and water, we began to look for ways to improve our life on the island. Jason cut down long poles and started packing coconuts with sand to make a small gym; he walked around constantly mutter to himself about how he was making the next “Soloflex.” At this point, I knew that he was losing it.

We were all losing weight rapidly and this had to stop. We put Derek to work on this problem and he began trying to find something, anything, anabolic on this island. He would sit for hours, grinding down roots, mosses, and small animals and boiling them in a makeshift beaker of palm leaves. Finally, he claimed to have produced something 10 times more powerful then dianabol. This did not solve our problems however, because we lacked a delivery system. But always one step ahead, Derek found a sea urchin in a small lagoon on the east side of the island and made primitive needles out of its quills.

Jason’s gym was coming along quickly. It was not long before he had a bench press and a squat rack built out of jungle wood. However, he did not let it stop there. In the depths of his madness, he began to imagine that this was new Gold’s Gym franchise. He insisted on singing, at the top of his voice, all the latest trendy hits including N’Sync. He demanded to see our membership cards and would threaten to cancel our membership if we dropped the weights. He was losing it and losing it fast.

At night, as I lay huddled near our fire, I knew how slim our chances of rescue were. Furthermore, I was worrying a great deal about Jason’s mental condition. He was making plans for the Island Mr. Olympia and kept insisting that Joe Weider was coming to present him his medal. I would nod when he said this and slide away slowly, always with one hand on a heavy rock.

The morning came like it did every day but something was wrong. Jason sat crouched on a rock, waves lapping at his feet. Behind him, on the shore, was an empty FedEx box ripped open. Cradled in his hand were tiny laminated strips of paper and he was licking them eagerly. His tongue and face were covered with white powder. It could not be, but, it was. A box of Getwood’s shipments had washed ashore. Jason had probably eaten almost 5 grams of anadrol powder.

He turned slowly, bringing up a finger to point at Derek and I. It was then I saw his face, painted in tribal designs with the ashes of our fire. It had finally happened, he had gone wild. He leapt from the rock, running on all fours towards us.  I could see in his eyes he imagined Derek and myself as two large pork chops. He began to smash his fists into the sand, hooting, driving us away from his FedEx container. Having expelled the intruders, Jason returned to his home gym and began to happily pump out a few reps on the flat bench. 

Where was Carol? I looked around wildly as I backed away from the beast on the beach. Then I saw her, tied to a tree with long strips of palm frond. Around her were piled oddly shaped rocks and bits of shiny shell.

Derek and I ran into the forest, hoping to find another source of food until Jason returned to normal. We crossed through the main body of the island until we came out on the north face of the island which was a huge cliff overlooking sharp rocks and pounding waves. What we saw amazed us.

There was raft coming towards the island, made out of gallon water jugs and empty protein canisters. I watched with a baited breath and the raft got nearer and nearer. I could vaguely make out the occupant, a swarthy dark skinned man wearing a paper hat. Finally the man reached the unfriendly shoreline and I saw who it was. It was MMX. Leaving Derek to watch my back I ran down the cliff to meet our lost friend.

MMX explained he had been on “vacation” in Mexico but had been unable to regain entrance to the US on account of some sort of Visa trouble. Apparently he had made a raft to float across the river and get back to Houston, but he lost his sense of direction and ended up floating in the middle of the Pacific. He kept looking around nervously, muttering something about the INS and looking suspicious. I saw traces of madness in his eyes. I asked if he had any food to which he replied “Food, we don’t need no stinking food.” I agreed of course, because this was the largest Mexican in the world and I didn’t need him angry.

Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of CastAway.

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