Weak-ass 90s boyfriend Joe Davis can’t even lift a boombox over his head, a fact he discovered while attempting to profess his feelings to his outwardly perfect but internally struggling high school sweetheart.
“How else was I supposed to declare my love to a girl who’s kind of mean to me in public, but weirdly nice and deep when we’re outside of school?” Davis said, icing his concussed head and buttoning a large flannel over his ambiguous-grunge-band T-shirt. “All I wanted to do was blast our song — which could’ve become an instant classic as a direct result of this gesture — outside her bedroom window, but I clearly needed to hit the gym first.”
Davis’ on-and-off girlfriend, Emma Shiffman, wasn’t surprised when she learned of his injury, citing his “noodly arms” and “overall lack of coordination” as early indicators of his failure. Shiffman was lying in bed when she heard the first few notes of their song, but as she stood up to look out her window, she heard a “thwack” and saw her feeble beau totter to the ground.
“He’s no quarterback,” Shiffman said dreamily as she twirled her blond ponytail, ran for student council, and finally opened up about her alcoholic mother. “But he’s my quarterback, even though his fleshy pipe-cleaner arms are concerningly skinny, and I’m smarter than him, and also extremely out of his league physically."
Davis, hoping his childlike muscles could manage to hoist posterboard above his head, was last seen writing “At Christmas, you tell the truth” and “To me, you are perfect” on huge cue cards.