Going to the gym

I’m a big advocate for working out.  It’s a great stress reducer and more importantly it’s great for your health. “For your health” as Dr. Steve Brule would say. However, there have been times where I’ve gone to the gym and my visit has been an absolute disaster. You, right now, are about to hear about one of those times.  I regularly go to a family fitness center not too far away from my house. Yes, I said family fitness center. It’s a very small place, but I like it because you don’t have the meat-heads or Euro trash house music blaring.  This fitness center has a variety of characters though.  Typically, these places carry an older clientele. When I say older, I’m talking 85 to 90+ years old.  That’s no problem. I’ve got nothing against older people. I do, however, have a problem with old balls. I’m not talking basketballs. I’m not talking soccer balls. I’m talking about old saggy knee-hanging balls. For some reason, the older men in this fitness center have no shame. They walk around and have 30 minute conversations completely naked. You’d think I was on the set of Meerkat Manor there are so many one-eyed trouser weasels. Don’t get my wrong. It’s a locker room so you’re most likely going to be naked at some point. I’m alright with that, but do you have to talk about your trip to the DMV with a leg propped up air-drying your gooch? If you have to think about that for a second. GET OUT OF HERE AND TAKE YOUR BALLS WITH YOU!

I, being me of course, just so happened to find myself right smack dab in the middle of one of these naked conversations. If that wasn’t bad enough, there were, not one, but  two old men involved. That’s two pairs of balls for those counting. As usual, the conversation was about the economy. They were both taking up the pathway with their balls and their asses as I made my way to the towels.  As I slowly tried to slip past their Mr. Burns-like old bodies, I was engaged, “The economy ain’t like it used to. These kids…excuse me son.” OH NO I thought, they’re talking to me. This is that final moment in an action movie where the hero and the villain have the much anticipated showdown. Imagine Lethal Weapon where a non-drug using Gary Busey fights a non-racist Mel Gibson. It was epic. Queue the Hans Zimmerman background music. Back to the story. My head was down so I whipped it up as fast as I could to avoid seeing the 2 hanging dinguses. I looked like I was three minutes into Bohemian Rhapsody. “Yes?” I squealed as I did the bend and snap. Looking me dead in the eye with their wangers swinging, the one said, “Your dicks out.”

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