This weekend I went to the craziest party. There were tons of people there, a lot I didn’t know, but some good friends I hadn’t seen in a while which was flippin’ awesome. It was an outdoor party, which if you haven’t tried, you haven’t lived. An outdoor party to a regular party is like being a parakeet compared to being a pterodactyl. Everyone was running around, someone brought a dog, people were singing, another kid was throwing matches, it was INSANE! If an alligator had trundled through, I’m not sure it would have seemed out of place. This one girl even punched a cake that my brother brought and got icing everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean more places than fingerpaint on juice and meth day back in kindergarten. Bedlam. Best 1 year old birthday party I’ve been to in a while.
It was at this rager that I started talking with a couple of friends about the gym. Well, we all started talking about the gym. I can’t remember who brought it up. Was it?… no. Maybeee?… nah. Coulda been… wait he’s a mute with one hand. Takes forever to sign anything and won’t shut up about Norse mythology. Do you have any idea how long it takes to spell out Yggdrasil in sign language? Well multiply that by five because who expects someone to bring up Yggdrasil in conversation? And while we’re at it, who put a y and two g’s right next to each other? It’s even harder to say than it is to spell.
Anywho, we got to talking about the gym and our favorite people in them and what do you know? We go to the same gym! Well, mine is in Gainesville, another is in Tampa and another
at Ave Maria, but we see the same exact people. There cannot be that many people who are exactly the same. I learned that in kindergarten, on milk and cracker day. Everyone is a beautiful snowflake and completely unique. There is only one explanation: when we walk through the door of the gym, we are transported through time and space to one universal gym. Occam’s Razor states that the simplest explanation is best and I believe we have found it. It would certainly explain the constant line for the bench and bicep curls. I’ll describe the people we share and you see for yourself: I’m sure you’ll embrace the universal gym theory as the only possible way to explain such a striking degree of similarity.
This is an epidemic, people. There is a rogue population of sleeve monsters sneaking into young mens closets and eating their t-shirts. Everywhere I look I see the victims of this plague and my heart cries out for them. The “sleeveless,” as I call them, wander forlornly around, gazing at any reflective surface, as if searching for the cause of their misfortune. Many are so shocked by their loss they are unable to lift anything for an extended period of time and must stop and recharge often, massaging their muscles and flexing to make sure they are still there. We must band together and fight this menace. Do your part, give a shirt to those in need.
The Peak-a-boo Nips
Weep, dear humans! Alas! Some men’s shirts draw these monsters like moths to flame. I shudder to imagine the size of the beasts skulking in the recesses of their closets. With shirts with more fabric missing than present, I can only dream of the shirt that was. Such devotion to a favorite T to honor it even in death, to display it with pride long after its five rounds with Mike Tyson. However, I can’t help but wonder, with that big of muscles…isn’t it time to stick up for your shirts and evict those cotton craving creatures?
I’m sexy and I know it. And did you know that men are like fish? They like bright colors, their eyes are really big whenever I’m around and there’s one or two open mouths. I did. I love this spandex I’m wearing. I think I’ll go do some light stretching and a couple body weight squats over here, maybe some core.
The WORST type of person. The guy, or gal, that sits peacefully on the machine or last open bench looking at their ipod. You watch the thumb, clockwise, 1,2,3,4….75. Yeah, I guess that wasn’t the right song, you’re right. Counterclockwise, 1,2,3…57. There it is. The perfect song, time to get his lift on. He rips through the set no problem. Pure poetry in motion. Jazzed you may get to take the seat, you skip over and ask in a gruff, forced casual voice, “Hey man, how many sets you got left?” “Oh, I just got started, 4 more.” And his song just ended. Sigh.
String bean. Sweet lifting gloves. Notebook. Water/shake bottle. Super serious. Will evolve into a Stoked Veteran with enough XP points and a Stoked Hulk if you keep him number one in your line up and have the Creatine Stone. You know.
So look around next time you head to the gym to get your swole on. Take note of
your fellow patrons and ponder the universal gym theory. In fact, look for me on Friday, I’ll be there around noon. See you at the Multi-verse Family fitness, they have a killer jazzercise class.
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