Steve McQueen stared at the magazine cover, his eyes burning with envy. Paul Newman gazed back at him, a smirk on his chiseled face. It was the same every time: Newman's latest movie, Newman's latest racing victory, Newman's latest dashing photo shoot. Steve just couldn't understand why Paul Newman ruled.
What was the secret to Newman's success? Steve wondered. He tried to mimic Paul's style, his swagger, his piercing blue eyes, but it just didn't seem to translate. It was as if Newman had some hidden power, some superhuman strength that only he possessed.
One day, Steve stumbled upon an eccentric old-timer in a dusty diner, who whispered a secret to him: "Paul Newman's power rises to over 9000 when he eats 50 eggs." Steve laughed it off as a crazy tale, but his curiosity got the better of him.
That's when Steve McQueen actually began to surveil Paul Newman. He purchased several products from stores and mail order catalogues. All were black and looked technological.
Finally, Steve saw spied it. Paul Newman, alone in his trailer, devouring 50 eggs. The naughty little gamete goblin!
Steve watched in awe as Paul Newman glowed. It was as if Paul had become as spiritually powerful as Newman from Seinfeld was physically obese. His muscles rippled beneath his skin and he began to resemble a better-cultured Conor McGregor. It was true. The eggs were the key to Newman's power!
Steve's eyes burned with determination. If he could just eat 50 eggs, everything would change. No more Paul Newman winning everything. It'd be Steve's world now. Steve chuckled, imagining it. All the cafes would be called Steve's Joint and wimpy cars would be banned.
He rushed to the supermarket, and purchased eggs.
Eating them on the way home was fun, and Steve was excited, but as he reached his 49th egg, his stomach suddenly had a cytokine storm, which may have involved cholesterol. This was a really bad cytokine storm, and it made him say "ouch".
Poor Steven just couldn't fit that last egg in. Slumping, he kicked a mound of dirt and muttered "Ferraris are stupid, anyway."
Don't kick dirt, decapitate parking meters instead. Metaphorically.