Free The Loser's Guide to Life and Love by A. E. Cannon

if nothing else, has the virtue of being efficient.
    Meanwhile, a restless wind blows and a pair of dragonflies tumble by.

ED’S TURN
    A very a) toned and b) tanned girl wearing biking shorts that tastefully complement her black workout bra shouts a greeting at us over the din of the gym. A blond ponytail on the top of her head bobs as she gives us a huge smile.
    â€œHI! I’M ERICA! AND I’M GOING TO BE YOUR PERSONAL FITNESS ADVISER TODAY! BECAUSE HERE AT BODY, INC., WE WANT TO HELP YOU HAVE THE BODY YOU WANT!”
    â€œCAN I CHOOSE ANY BODY I WANT?” I shout back, as I spy a number of very fine female bodies I want and would be more than happy to choose from if given the opportunity.
    Scout smacks me. Quark just blinks.
    â€œABSOLUTELY!” says Erica, her ponytail bobbing like she’s starring in an episode of I Dream of Jeannie. “MY JOB AS YOUR PERSONAL FITNESS ADVISER IS TO HELP YOU DESIGN A SPECIFIC WORKOUT PROGRAM TAILORED TO MEET YOUR INDIVIDUAL NEEDS SO THAT YOU”—here she points at me and Quark, like she’s Uncle Sam on a recruiting poster—“CAN GET THE BODY YOU WANT!”
    â€œRIGHT ON!” Quark says earnestly.
    I’m tempted to break Quark’s jaw and wire it shut on the spot so he can’t say anything for the rest of his life. “Quark! This is not the 1970s and you are not Shaft, which means you are not allowed to say ‘right on.’”
    Quark may sound stupid, but at least he doesn’t look stupid. Give him credit for that. I, on the other hand, look like the very definition of stupid. For starters, my legs are a dazzling shade of hairy white. If my lips didn’t keep moving you’d think I was dead, my leg skin is so pale. Also, I’m wearing one of my mom’s T-shirts, which I accidentally picked up and packed in my gym bag. So instead of wearing a manly-man T-shirt that says something like “Just do it,” I am wearing a girly-man T-shirt that says “Snap out of it!” I’ve got it on inside out, hoping and praying that people will think I am on the cutting edge of workout wear fashion for men.
    â€œERICA, SHOW THESE GUYS THE WEIGHT MACHINES WHILE I LIFT, OKAY?” Scout shouts.
    Erica (otherwise known as Jeannie) happily bobs her ponytail and commands us (otherwise known as “Master” and “Roger”) to follow her. As we thread our way through a thicket of weight-lifting equipment, Quark looks back with naked longing at Scout, who’s already at a bench, adjusting for the number of pounds she wants to start off with. I look back at her, too, and suddenly I feel very, very annoyed with Quark.
    â€œStop ogling her,” I snap at Quark, wondering when I started to use high-end verbs like “ogle.” “She isn’t a piece of meat.”
    â€œI am aware of that, Ed.” Quark bristles right before my eyes like he’s a quaking aspen. “By the way, Ed, you’re wearing your mother’s shirt inside out.”
    My spirits start to sink, not unlike the Titanic (starring Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio). If Quark—Quark the guy who once accidentally wore Batman pajamas to school in the second grade—has noticed what I’m wearing, then I’m screwed. No doubt about it. People will stare. They’ll gawk. In fact, I feel a pair of eyes gawking at me right now.
    I look up—and gasp.
    There, hanging on the wall, is a life-sized photograph of Ali! He’s cradling a huge silver trophy the size of a punch bowl in his arms, and he’s staring straight downat me. Or at least I think he is. As I’ve said before, it’s hard to tell with those sunglasses.
    The sight of Ali makes goose bumps pop up all over my arms. Damn! That guy sure does get around!
    â€œIT’S MAJORLY IMPORTANT THAT YOU LEARN HOW TO LIFT CORRECTLY,” Erica informs us as she stops in front of a machine that looks like it might have been used as an