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Photo by Peter Sutherland.
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Erik Lavoie is many great things to many great people. Like what? Shit, it’s hard to know where to begin. Like with God. Do you start when he was born? Do you talk about what he does today? I don’t know.
He’s made love to hundreds of beautiful women (
doy), but what great man hasn’t? Look at Malcolm X or Muhammad Ali or even Martin Luther King. Being a genius with impeccable style and poise means you are incredibly libidinous and incredibly surrounded by babes. Try not to fuck him.
More importantly, however, Erik is a true gentleman. In the most traditional sense of the word. Though he grew up in the rural outskirts of Montreal, his erudite demeanor means he is as comfortable chewing poutine in Rouyan-Noranda with a lonely fisherman as he is playing
tennis in the Hamptons with the Princess of Lubeiska.
Does that make him a snob? Fuck you. Erik doesn’t bet on horses; he trains them. He doesn’t sponsor boxing matches; he enters them. And he doesn’t race cars; he
repairs them. He isn’t on the front lines. Motherfucker is the front lines.
Part of this success is due to Erik’s relentless dedication to self-improvement. “I’m always trying to outdo myself,” he tells us from the weight room of his home. “I don’t care if I’m
lifting twice as much as other people my size. For me, it’s about lifting twice as much as last week. And so on and so on—forever.”
No wonder this man has amassed enough money, power, and friends in (
dangerously) high places to take over the entire Western world. Erik Lavoie is a living legend. A man who knows no boundaries. He is the sun and the moon and the stars. He is more man than you will ever be and more
woman than you will ever get.
CHRISTI BRADNOX
