When I originally saw the “cupping” method of recovery being used by Olympians like Michael Phelps and Alex Naddour, I was disgusted. Why on Earth would anyone subject themselves to getting the equivalent of hickeys all over their body without the payoff of a half-hearted hand job? At a glance, placing suction cups on one’s back and limbs is just silly. There’s no way that some ancient medical practice could possibly help with recovery. Those hacks couldn’t even deliver a baby or figure out penicillin, after all. Still, after a night of heavy drinking and push-up contests, I was willing to try anything. If it was good enough for icons like Phelps, it couldn’t hurt to give cupping a shot.
The first sensation I experienced was an urge to do intense cardio. Instead of the pain I expected from having my skin sucked to the point it looked like a bulbous scrotum, I had a low enough resting heart rate to simulate death. Indeed, the initial euphoria from the cupping experience could be described as a form of rebirth. No longer was I some Gatorade-and-protein-swilling heathen, but a man who knew that recovery could only come from an intense suckjob. Without a second thought, I set out to dominate my newly-given life.
The day that followed was unlike anything achievable for non-suckers. As the powerful polka dots radiated off my freshly-chiseled features, people immediately noticed. A passing CEO handed me multiple business cards and the key to his Miata while ensuring me I “was the next big thing” and could “rail out his wife and daughter anytime.” It felt wrong to just be handed such gifts (greatness is earned), but it would have been rude to refuse.
After a jaunt around the block and a high-end hummer in a drop top convertible, it was time for a quick gym session. The only drawback came from the slick, slightly fishy liquid that accumulated as I cranked out mad reps. The glow of my spots, coupled with such a display of physical prowess, had clearly caused a few thigh gaps to turn up the humidity. Since running would be nigh impossible in such slippery conditions, it seemed proper to hit the pool like my new spiritual and athletic guide, Mikey Phelps. Sadly, the pool had changed to a shade of yellowish green by the time I was prepared to dive in. This was likely due to the weak-minded men already inhabiting it pissing themselves while looking at my trendy bruises. Cardio wouldn’t be on the agenda.
Despite the setback, it was clear that celebrations were in order. An impromptu house party, rife with booze and babes, seemed like the go-to move. Unfortunately, this part of the night was a bit hazy. After the party began, a lady friend wanted to go in the back room and do some more cupping. The volume of it led to such a rush that everything else devolved into a blur. It was certainly the best night of my life, but a lack of video evidence can’t possibly validate that.
It’s pretty clear, what with the likes of athletes and well-educated celebrities (Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Aniston, Jay Cutler’s wife (probably)) embracing it, that cupping is the way of the future. Rather than using well-established medical methods of recovery, people need to start cupping immediately. Just make sure you don’t do it until your nose bleeds, and don’t drop all your money on it. Even though it’s the greatest thing ever, always remember to cup responsibly..
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