Fuck the Gym

If I had to guess what Hell is like, I would say it’s probably similar to Bally’s Total Fitness in Wayne, NJ. Everyone in that gym wishes they were in a better place, it’s hot, sweaty, cramped, and overcrowded with Mexicans… or Italians, I honestly can’t tell the difference sometimes. The card-swiping minions that work there have no personalities or souls, and they blare ear piercing techno music while the damned grunt and groan in eternal agony. Every time I go there, my hope for humanity declines more and more.

Going to any gym in the first place is never enjoyable though, and my disdain for gyms is not limited to this particular one. The worst part about going to the gym is having to deal with some of the world’s most annoying people. I’ve hated the general population of every gym I’ve ever been to, and I’ve noticed the same cast of characters seem to pop up at each one. The following gym goers instill more rage within me than any steroid ever could:

The Hisser

Instead of breathing like a normal human being, this individual feels compelled to exhale through his teeth while lifting weight, usually in a prolonged, obnoxious fashion. Let me point something out to you Serpentor, when meat-heads talk about working on their pythons, they don’t mean it literally. Actually I take that back. You should continue trying to emulate a snake, in fact when you’re done working out, why don’t go home and peel off all of your skin, then try to swallow a capybara whole?

The Naked Old Man

I know this one is cliché since everyone has either witnessed the uncomfortable actions of the naked old man, or heard about them from at least 57 different comedians, but just let me explain my issue:
I could care less about 80 year old, wrinkled dicks flopping around, it really doesn’t bother me that much, but I had to draw the line with the naked old man after a recent, disturbing incident. Last week, I walked into the locker room to get changed while an old man was on his way out. It was crowded, and the only empty locker seemed to be the one he just vacated, so I went over and threw my bag on the white, plastic bench next to it. When I put my foot up on the bench to untie my shoe, I noticed a circular, brown stain next to my bag. It took a second or two to process the gravity of the situation, but once I did, my inner-monolog went into panic mode and starting chaotically yelling:
THAT’S SHIT!
THAT IS HUMAN SHIT FROM AN ASS!
THAT OLD MAN JUST WIPED HUMAN ASS-SHIT ON THE FUCKING BENCH!
Even though this alarm was going off, I was able to remain calm on the outside. I slowly moved my things to the next locker and had no intention of telling the next person who came in that there was shit on the bench.

The “Hey can I get a spot, bro?” Guy

No.

Mr. Notepad

I can only imagine what these fuck-stains are writing in their little journals:

Dear Gym Diary,

Today I came to the gym by myself around 5:30. I tried talking to the cute girl at the front desk but she just gave me a blank stare and scanned my card. :(
Some good news though, I added another half-pound weight block to the Ab-roller since I last wrote you! I also finally decided to give the treadmill a whirl today, but I only lasted about 5 minutes because my stomach felt funny. Must have been those Ramen Noodles and onion rings I had for lunch LOL!
Overall I think it was a pretty good work out! Not much else going on for me today, I think I’ll go home and ruin it by drinking a 6-pack of Milwaukee’s Best and eating an entire family-sized bag of Smartfood Popcorn.

Your Pal,
Drew

The Meandering Douche

This asshole conveniently spreads his gym accessories (water bottle, sweat-stained towel, notepad, etc.) across 3 machines and aimlessly wonders around them either thinking about which one to use, or how else he can ruin other people’s workouts. This guy is a nuisance because he forces you into awkwardly asking him if you can use the machine he is indecisively hovering over. It’s especially annoying when you’re listening to a death metal playlist on your ipod and are forced to turn it down because you have to interact with this prick. All I want is to be able to use the Butt Buster while Jonathan Davis tells me to slit my wrists without interruption, is that so much to ask you inconsiderate shitbag?

The Epileptic Chicken

A member of the Guido Genera, the epileptic chicken can be identified by its minimal body hair and child-sized tank top. His name derives from the peculiar head-bobbing dance that he does in between sets. Previously used by his ancestors as a courtship ritual, the chicken’s dance still serves a similar purpose today as it is intended to gain the attention of those surrounding it. The dance is usually set to a techno or hip-hop beat, and may include lip syncing, air drumming, and even minor fist pumping. The chicken’s music is played through headphones which, unbeknownst to him, prevent others from hearing what he is listening to. This makes for a very embarrassing situation, as the chicken is completely unaware that he appears to be dancing to the Mily Cyrus song that is being played on the gym radio. When his sets are done, the chicken struts over to the water fountain to fill up his 12 gallon jug and invests no concern in the line that begins forming behind him. When finished, he moves to his next apparatus, taking great pride in not being the one to move out of the way when someone walks into his path.