The best thing about this picture? Not that he appears to be making mental to love to himself. Not that he had to go sleeveless. Not even that there’s a dirty mattress propped up in the corner. No, the worst thing about this picture is that Alex Rodriguez has his hands pressed firmly up against this mirror, palms facing down, knowing that doing so will make his biceps “pop.”
This, kids, is vanity at its finest. A-Rod’s like the dude at the gym who comes to lift in a wife beater, not caring that it means more sweat left on the bench for the next guy. But hey, you can see his ear-eating lats, and that’s what counts, right? I bet he’s the kind of guy who wears cologne to the gym, oblivious to how overpowering Old Spice is when mixed with sweat. He probably puts three plates on the bar if there’s a cute girl nearby, slides under it, then waits until she looks away, at which point he proceeds to yell loudly and spring up from the bench as if he actually lifted it.
There are very few people in this world that I hate. I don’t even hate Bill Belichick, Nick Harper’s wife or Bernie Madoff. But A-Rod…yeah, I think I hate him.
