T is for the '48 Tucker Torpedo

So recently I've decided to take a sharp turn into fitness city, population this guy. Most of my work day was spent researching transfriendly muscle building routines, yoga studios near my apartment, and drawing a 6-day work out plan on a post it with a sharpie and a highlighter.

It was a pretty slow day.

Friday afternoon rolls around, I drag my skinny ass out of bed after a 4 hour nap, walk to the gym to start gettin' swole. After a riveting, challenging, butt-kicking 30 minutes on the expressline, I walked home and bought muscle milk.

In order to achieve true gym rat bro-dom, my obvious dream, I made a trip to the local "vitamin world", apparently owned and operated by the most flamboyant man. Rather than suggesting I buy 400 kinds of protein and 648954 vitamins and really just whalin' on my pecs, brah, he recommended the kind that "tastes like a vanilla ice cream float".

Purchases at Vitamin World are accompanied by a membership card, which I was required to fill out. After this kind young gentleman presumptuously checked the "female" box, I filled out my name.

"What a unique name! I love that name. It's so great. Where did it come from?"

I paused. "...My brain."

He chuckled, and then said, "not after the old car?"

"What?" I replied. "What old car?"

The "Tucker" aka "The Tucker Torpedo"

You're welcome.