The opening contest of the day was for male hardbodies, which took a while to get underway. The key problem in these things is getting guys to participate, given the unspoken understanding of all involved that it’s just a pro forma act of affirmation to make things seem a touch more palatable to the sensitivities of the sensitive.

Naturally, the clever hunters at La Vela know how to snare their afternoon’s worth of exhibitionistic gentlemen… all ya need is the right bait.

As the trap was set, so was it sprung, capturing hardy souls such as this and compelling them to demonstrate the full extent of their funk.

There was a rumor going around that this was a wardrobe malfunction, rather than a disgusting and perverse display of man-nipple. Whatever the truth, I’m calling the FCC. Or Congress. Or Pizza Hut… I get hungry when I’m self-righteously inflamed.

I thought for a moment that the assembled ladies would run in fear at the sight of this fellow, what with his horribly disfigured body. The pitiable young man seemed to suffer from elephantitus pectoralis or some other form of illness that caused all those unsightly bulges. Poor bastard. Good for him, though, getting out and trying to live a normal life!

Here, a participant seeks to explain some sort of complex agricultural concept to the audience. I couldn’t make out all of it, but I believe it had to do with poultry or horses or something. I’m sure he mentioned something about “driving fence posts”, if that makes any sense.

“And when my mommy was carrying me in her tummy, it was this big!”

Overall, it was a hard-fought battle. But among La Vela hardbodies as among Highlanders, there can be only one. They called him Tripod, perhaps alluding to his major in photojournalism. He wasn’t the most formidable individual, nor were his features chiseled from the stones of Mt. Olympus… yet he stole both the ladies’ hearts and the day with his charm, wit, and low-to-the-ground aerodynamics.

Well, that and whatever it is he was showing them right here.