Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a weirdo. My friends and family know this, and if you read this column with any degree of regularity, you recognize the ongoing weirdness factor.
That being said, I have New Year’s wish. It’s weird.
I want to see Dwayne “THE ROCK” Johnson up close. Why? Here comes the weird part: because I want see how big his neck really is.
If you don’t know The Rock or don’t follow him at all, his neck is about as big as a rhino’s. It’s preposterously thick, tight, gargantuan. I looks like he does bench presses with his neck, though I have no idea how he’d accomplish that.
Normal people have normal necks. The Rock is not normal. As a former pro wrestler, he probably did neck bridges when he jumped out of bed in the morning, where he’d lay on his back, bend his neck backwards and lift his torso to the gods so that all his weight positioned on neck to increase his bulging neck size and intimidate his opponent.
“My neck is so damn big, it will crush you,” I imagine him taunting his opponents. They would tremble when he spoke.
The neck’s an interesting thing. We typically don’t look or think about it at all. When, for example, is the last time you looked at your neck or someone else’s, and then remarked about it. “Hmmmm, Justine’s neck sure is smooth and unmarked by moles or skin tags, isn’t it?”
No, we don’t do that. We look at eyes, hair, other physical body parts. The neck escapes our attention.
The Rock brings it back to the forefront of our imagination. The neck shapes our impression of The Rock.
He’s got those titanic biceps, absolutely. Can’t ignore them. They split his shirts. He wears those shirts for effect, or maybe there are absolutely no shirts his size made anywhere in the world. That’s entirely possible.
The intensity of his neck is his centerpiece. He speaks. I see his neck. He dispatches a bad guy. His neck stands out to me.
Think if you stood next to him. First, he would dwarf 99 percent of humans. You’d probably drop a puddle in your undies from his sheer presence.
Second, you have to believe that his physicality would beam off him like Star Trek technology. His shimmering muscles would make you want to jump away for fear of him flexing and bonking you in the side of the head with the expanding mass.
Third, we get back to that neck. Maybe he would let you touch it. See if you can dent it with your index finger. Perhaps it is soft? Who knows?
Most likely, if you requested to touch his neck, he’d think you’re weird. He’d be right about that.
He seems like a reasonable guy with a refined sense of humor. Maybe if you explained yourself thoroughly, he’d get it. “Hey man, no problem, people ask to touch my neck all the time. Go for it.”
Make it quick. Don’t overdo it. Thank him profusely for the opportunity. Then you can say to all your friends, “I touched The Rock’s neck.” They’ll know you’re weird. That’s okay.
That being said, I have New Year’s wish. It’s weird.
I want to see Dwayne “THE ROCK” Johnson up close. Why? Here comes the weird part: because I want see how big his neck really is.
If you don’t know The Rock or don’t follow him at all, his neck is about as big as a rhino’s. It’s preposterously thick, tight, gargantuan. I looks like he does bench presses with his neck, though I have no idea how he’d accomplish that.
Normal people have normal necks. The Rock is not normal. As a former pro wrestler, he probably did neck bridges when he jumped out of bed in the morning, where he’d lay on his back, bend his neck backwards and lift his torso to the gods so that all his weight positioned on neck to increase his bulging neck size and intimidate his opponent.
“My neck is so damn big, it will crush you,” I imagine him taunting his opponents. They would tremble when he spoke.
The neck’s an interesting thing. We typically don’t look or think about it at all. When, for example, is the last time you looked at your neck or someone else’s, and then remarked about it. “Hmmmm, Justine’s neck sure is smooth and unmarked by moles or skin tags, isn’t it?”
No, we don’t do that. We look at eyes, hair, other physical body parts. The neck escapes our attention.
The Rock brings it back to the forefront of our imagination. The neck shapes our impression of The Rock.
He’s got those titanic biceps, absolutely. Can’t ignore them. They split his shirts. He wears those shirts for effect, or maybe there are absolutely no shirts his size made anywhere in the world. That’s entirely possible.
The intensity of his neck is his centerpiece. He speaks. I see his neck. He dispatches a bad guy. His neck stands out to me.
Think if you stood next to him. First, he would dwarf 99 percent of humans. You’d probably drop a puddle in your undies from his sheer presence.
Second, you have to believe that his physicality would beam off him like Star Trek technology. His shimmering muscles would make you want to jump away for fear of him flexing and bonking you in the side of the head with the expanding mass.
Third, we get back to that neck. Maybe he would let you touch it. See if you can dent it with your index finger. Perhaps it is soft? Who knows?
Most likely, if you requested to touch his neck, he’d think you’re weird. He’d be right about that.
He seems like a reasonable guy with a refined sense of humor. Maybe if you explained yourself thoroughly, he’d get it. “Hey man, no problem, people ask to touch my neck all the time. Go for it.”
Make it quick. Don’t overdo it. Thank him profusely for the opportunity. Then you can say to all your friends, “I touched The Rock’s neck.” They’ll know you’re weird. That’s okay.