. . . and he says to me, he says "Johnny Boy, have I got news for you."
'That's the power of Juice!' Jack shouted, sticking the needles and medical tubes into my arm, and then some into his own. We were both hooked up to that goddamned machine. That's the last thing I remember, okay? And now I'm empty. Ain't nothin' left. Me and ol' Jack. Me and ol' Jack. You are what you eat.”
"Yeah, Jack?" I says to him. I was awfully frightened, you see, his arms were bigger than a killbot's driveshaft and his veins were popping way out. But he had me backed into a corner, a literal corner in the cafeteria, so there wasn't much I could do. I had seen what those arms could do to a man's skeleton, bone by cracking bone. So I just listen.
"Johnny boy, I've been watching you lately. You look tired. Frail. Anemic. Why, if I put my mind to it, I could grind your sick little bones into powder with just my two fingers.” Jack liked to talk a lot about bones; he was a sick one. I gulped. Shit I was scared. "But don't worry, ol' Jack's got the answer to all your problems!"
"An answer?" God help me, I seen how this goes before. In another second he would pull out his-
'Let me introduce you to the Jack LaLanne Power Juicer™!'
Oh God, the juicer. The machine appeared in his hands, I swear he pulled it outta thin air. It whirred and had an evil glow, oh it made me sick. He laughed. His arms grew bigger, like they were anticipating something. They were puckering up. They were screaming and hungry.
- Extract from inpatient interview at the Asylum for those who Dance to the Beat of a Different Drum. Similar testimonies surrounding Jack LaLanne and his Infernal Juicer are the only surviving descriptions of Jack LaLanne's life and his early prototype of the juicing system.
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