The Secret Truth to Taylor Lautner's Instant Muscles
You do...something with them.
“We’ve gotten numerous emails about this next question,” Lorraine Durwell, Seventeen magazine’s interviewer, stated. She flipped through her notes, scanning over the email entries. “’How often do you visit the gym to get your perfect muscles?’”
Taylor Lautner looked over at the interviewer and smiled. But that smile was just a façade of what was really going on in his mind. Inside, he was panicking.
Should I tell them my secrets?, he thought.
He debated on the outcome in his mind, going over the pros and cons of the whole ordeal. If they found out, would they find him to be some sort of freak—a freak that uses rocks to create his image?
“’Perfect’?” he laughed, covering his thoughts up with a smile. “I don’t really find them all that perfect. I find them to look like sandbags stuffed into my arms and stomach to create the ideal image of a guy.”
He was obviously trying to steer away from the question, answering differently.
“Really?” Lorraine asked, surprised at his vision. Finally realizing he was avoiding the question, she repeated the inquiry.
“You may not think they perfect, but there’s nothing the gym can’t do to fix up,” she laughed. “but, you haven’t answered my question. ‘How often do you visit the gym?’”
He mentally sighed, clearly comprehending the fact that she knew what he was trying to do.
“What if I said ‘I don’t go to the gym’?” he asked, quietly grimacing as he had been caught.
She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, widening her eyes in the process.
“Possibly a home gym, muscle supplements?” she asked, listing off suggestions.
Once again, he sighed, but out loud. He pinched the skin in between his eyes on the starting point of his nose.
“I really have no idea how to say this,” he admitted, letting go of his nose. “will you give me a few moments to go over my confession through my head? This is actually the first time I will be sporting my secret in public.”
Lorraine nodded, slightly confused as to why this ‘confession’ was such a big deal to him.
Does he get it surgically imputed? Does he consume various foods, and all the fats go to his arms and stomach? Does he take some sort to medication, sold from a witch doctor, to create his image?, she thought, listing the possibilities to this problem.
During her thoughts, a bit of an argument rose inside Taylor’s mind…against his conscience.
I should just probably lie flat out to the world, he thought, unaware of his listening conscience.
“No, you should not.”
He jumped in surprise of the elfish voice in his head. Lorraine looked at him, freaked out by his sudden jerk. He just smiled warmly at her and continued to listen to his thoughts.
What the hell? Who are you?, he questioned.
“I am your conscience. And you will not lie to the world once more,” the voice answered.
Well, then what in God’s name shall I do?, he asked his conscience.
He heard a sigh within his mind.
“Tell the truth, you douche! It’s not that bad as you may think.”
Now it was his turn to sigh. “Fine; but if my reputation is ruined forever, I blame you.”
“If you really blame me, your conscience, you’d be sent straight to an asylum,”
He ignored the smart ass remark, and cleared his throat, catching Lorraine’s attention.
“Are you quite finished with your thoughts?” she asked, making sure her tape recorder was on.
“Yes, I’m confident to share my secrets with the world,” he answered, sitting up straight in his seat.
She stared at him, giving him a chance to speak.
“The reason of these so-called, ‘perfect’, muscles are,” he hesitated. “are to my consumption of rocks.”
Lorraine stared at him, her mouth agape. She closed her mouth quickly, and squinted her eyes.
“You freak,” she sneered.
Taylor Lautner looked over at the interviewer and smiled. But that smile was just a façade of what was really going on in his mind. Inside, he was panicking.
Should I tell them my secrets?, he thought.
He debated on the outcome in his mind, going over the pros and cons of the whole ordeal. If they found out, would they find him to be some sort of freak—a freak that uses rocks to create his image?
“’Perfect’?” he laughed, covering his thoughts up with a smile. “I don’t really find them all that perfect. I find them to look like sandbags stuffed into my arms and stomach to create the ideal image of a guy.”
He was obviously trying to steer away from the question, answering differently.
“Really?” Lorraine asked, surprised at his vision. Finally realizing he was avoiding the question, she repeated the inquiry.
“You may not think they perfect, but there’s nothing the gym can’t do to fix up,” she laughed. “but, you haven’t answered my question. ‘How often do you visit the gym?’”
He mentally sighed, clearly comprehending the fact that she knew what he was trying to do.
“What if I said ‘I don’t go to the gym’?” he asked, quietly grimacing as he had been caught.
She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, widening her eyes in the process.
“Possibly a home gym, muscle supplements?” she asked, listing off suggestions.
Once again, he sighed, but out loud. He pinched the skin in between his eyes on the starting point of his nose.
“I really have no idea how to say this,” he admitted, letting go of his nose. “will you give me a few moments to go over my confession through my head? This is actually the first time I will be sporting my secret in public.”
Lorraine nodded, slightly confused as to why this ‘confession’ was such a big deal to him.
Does he get it surgically imputed? Does he consume various foods, and all the fats go to his arms and stomach? Does he take some sort to medication, sold from a witch doctor, to create his image?, she thought, listing the possibilities to this problem.
During her thoughts, a bit of an argument rose inside Taylor’s mind…against his conscience.
I should just probably lie flat out to the world, he thought, unaware of his listening conscience.
“No, you should not.”
He jumped in surprise of the elfish voice in his head. Lorraine looked at him, freaked out by his sudden jerk. He just smiled warmly at her and continued to listen to his thoughts.
What the hell? Who are you?, he questioned.
“I am your conscience. And you will not lie to the world once more,” the voice answered.
Well, then what in God’s name shall I do?, he asked his conscience.
He heard a sigh within his mind.
“Tell the truth, you douche! It’s not that bad as you may think.”
Now it was his turn to sigh. “Fine; but if my reputation is ruined forever, I blame you.”
“If you really blame me, your conscience, you’d be sent straight to an asylum,”
He ignored the smart ass remark, and cleared his throat, catching Lorraine’s attention.
“Are you quite finished with your thoughts?” she asked, making sure her tape recorder was on.
“Yes, I’m confident to share my secrets with the world,” he answered, sitting up straight in his seat.
She stared at him, giving him a chance to speak.
“The reason of these so-called, ‘perfect’, muscles are,” he hesitated. “are to my consumption of rocks.”
Lorraine stared at him, her mouth agape. She closed her mouth quickly, and squinted her eyes.
“You freak,” she sneered.
♠ ♠ ♠
edited Mon. Aug. 9, 2010.