Well, Ginga's on top of the world, smashed every record the olympics holds- but he's still got to find some way to show off. Enjoy!
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"From Olympic mascot, to olympic athlete, to— God, Mount Olympus, the actual mountain, I actually had to talk to our camera crew, because folks, we can't do a close-up shot of our latest guest, because, well— look at him!"
The late-night host's stage was overwhelmed by the hulking mass of a jaguar that Ginga had grown himself into, and while his head bobbed on a sea of pectoral and trapezius girth, he let out a good-natured chuckle, his pecs heaving and bouncing and temporarily overtaking his chin.
"So, Ginga— you've become a sensation— loads of fan clubs, athletes swearing to take after you or find a way to knock you down a peg— what's it like? I mean… are there any other records to break for a strongman and athlete?"
The jaguar reached down, patting his trunk-thick legs. "Well… there's plenty of people that can outrun me, if no one can outlift me." That got a decent laugh, the massive feline grinning to the audience. "Also, it would be nice to reach certain parts of my back, but hey, that's out the window too— my team keeps putting stick-it notes on my back when they think I don't notice. But, seriously, going with the Mount Olympus theme you set up— I feel like Alexander the Great, who, when he saw no more worlds left to conquer, he wept." Ginga sighed, resting his huge back against the couch he was filling to its utmost. "I can't even compete in next year's Olympics, they changed the rules to disqualify me, specifically."
"What, seriously? What'd they do, put a 'no jaguars allowed' sign up?"
"No— some sports have a weight requirement, but for the first time, the IOC put a weight limit— of, uh… a thousand pounds."
"And you hit that?"
Ginga shrugged his gigantic shoulders. "About a month ago."
The host whistled low. "Well, c'mon, I mean— look at you. Besides a future career playing superhero, you've got to have something in mind."
"Well…" Ginga reached up, the mass of biceps and pectoral muscles grinding against each other and fighting for room. "There is bodybuilding." He smirked slyly. "And they're, uh… more tolerant of certain rules, over at the IFBB."
"Yeah, I'll bet— you, uh. Wanna give us a taste of your new routine?" The jaguar chuckled, chest bouncing again. "That depends— you got your wide-angle cameras ready?" He was already heaving himself up to his full monstrous height. "I think I'd open up my bodybuilding routine with a classic I think I can zhuzh up a bit…"
The jaguar got the flash in his eye as he summoned up the deep wells of power that still hadn't fully been tapped out— instantly, his clothes burst apart as his yellow and green fur filled the camera lenses like a tidal wave— his already mammoth muscles surged upwards and outwards, and it seemed Ginga had already come prepared— as his pants shredded apart in face of earth-shaking thigh muscles burgeoning outward, growing thicker than they were long, he was clad in a pair of blue posing speedos, leaving the rest of his monumental body on full display— his expansive back was as wide and sprawling as a vast, green valley, rippling with thick cords of muscle. As his giant chest jutted out as vast as a canyon, he brought up his arms and curled them, pumping up biceps that heaved upwards large as mountain peaks.
Ginga flashed a winning smile as he held the pose, showing off his enormity for the TV audience. "Yeah, seeing some of the faces in the crowd out here, I'd say this is a winner."
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