Daily Splatter: There's A Place You Can Go
I wish the members of my YMCA had furniture in their homes. That way, they wouldn't need to drive all the way to the gym to sit around on the weight lifting machines. I also wish they weren't illiterate, so they could read any one of the dozen or so posted signs that say "Please Do Not Sit On The Machines Between Sets, You Inconsiderate Shithead" (I'm paraphrasing).
Apparently it is too much to ask these people to do their exercise, wipe their body sludge off the machine and then move their fat ass so someone else can have a turn. But why?
Is it too mentally challenging to have to remember your seat adjustment and weight stack? Do you get the numbers confused? If so, having a bad body image is probably the least of your problems and you shouldn't be near, let alone operating, machinery of any sort.
Is it that you don't want to have to waste 10-15 seconds re-adjusting your settings? Time sensitivity seems an unlikely explanation given the fact that you spend at least five minutes between each set staring blankly at the bank of muted television screens.
Or is it simply because you sustain your vile life force by accumulating the evil stares and universal wrath of every other semi-decent, commonly courteous person with whom you come in contact? Possibly, but that explanation is just a little too "Ghostbuster's II" for my taste.
For all the time I have spent waiting for you and pondering these thoughts - and it's a long fucking time - it seems the only reason you do not want to take turns using the equipment is because you think another asshole like you might jump in next. In other words, you have the social skills of a three-year-old and need to be beaten to death with a hardcover edition of "Everything I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten."
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe instead of standing there and attempting to use telepathy to burst an artery in your brain, I should find a good use for that time. Maybe it is divine intervention - a way for God to tell me to slow down and smell the...Oh, fuck it. I hate you so much I can't event pretend there might be a good reason for your rampant shitheadedness.
Just remember this, you are always only one Jedi mind trick away from a murderous aneurysm and I am in a constant search for Yoda. In the mean time, I hope the toxic cleaning fluid that everyone uses to wipe down the equipment seeps up into your loitering ass and kills you Brazilian tree frog-style.
Apparently it is too much to ask these people to do their exercise, wipe their body sludge off the machine and then move their fat ass so someone else can have a turn. But why?
Is it too mentally challenging to have to remember your seat adjustment and weight stack? Do you get the numbers confused? If so, having a bad body image is probably the least of your problems and you shouldn't be near, let alone operating, machinery of any sort.
Is it that you don't want to have to waste 10-15 seconds re-adjusting your settings? Time sensitivity seems an unlikely explanation given the fact that you spend at least five minutes between each set staring blankly at the bank of muted television screens.
Or is it simply because you sustain your vile life force by accumulating the evil stares and universal wrath of every other semi-decent, commonly courteous person with whom you come in contact? Possibly, but that explanation is just a little too "Ghostbuster's II" for my taste.
For all the time I have spent waiting for you and pondering these thoughts - and it's a long fucking time - it seems the only reason you do not want to take turns using the equipment is because you think another asshole like you might jump in next. In other words, you have the social skills of a three-year-old and need to be beaten to death with a hardcover edition of "Everything I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten."
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe instead of standing there and attempting to use telepathy to burst an artery in your brain, I should find a good use for that time. Maybe it is divine intervention - a way for God to tell me to slow down and smell the...Oh, fuck it. I hate you so much I can't event pretend there might be a good reason for your rampant shitheadedness.
Just remember this, you are always only one Jedi mind trick away from a murderous aneurysm and I am in a constant search for Yoda. In the mean time, I hope the toxic cleaning fluid that everyone uses to wipe down the equipment seeps up into your loitering ass and kills you Brazilian tree frog-style.
Comments
let me be the first to say i think this is your finest rant yet. i don't know what precipitated the stoking of the white-hot flames of your fury, but whatever it was, do it again, please.
Posted by: buckkel | June 8, 2006 08:24 AM
Not enough fiber in my diet, I think.
Plus, I'm not sure you should be encouraging this type of behavior.
Posted by: CBC | June 8, 2006 07:59 PM
First, lemme commend you for actually being IN the gym on a regular basis. I need to do that more often.
Second, these fools aren't sopping up their body slime so I know they're not gonna peel their slathered asses off the machines in a timely manner. They could care less!
Posted by: nicole | June 8, 2006 10:02 PM
I would have paid good money for this info, Thanks man.
Posted by: Annita Cockrum | May 5, 2010 12:30 PM