Sorry for the whole “going MIA for several months” thing, it’s been hard for me to have a desire to write, as I’m constantly doing it for school these days. At least it seems like it. Whatev. Anyways, I know that everyone gets old and dies and all that shit, and I know that old people think they deserve to have the rights that everyone else in the world does. But get the fuck out of my gym. Please. I know that you finally saved up enough UPC codes and got that sweet new fanny pack from the Mott’s applesauce company to show off, but do it somewhere that I don’t have to trip over you. Fuck. It’s one thing to see your friend Bertha from down the hall in your retirement home at the grocery store, and feel the need to have a half an hour conversation about tapioca pudding and dominos while blocking an entire aisle with your shopping carts that have nothing fucking in them. I get that. I can totally accept that the grocery store is like the elephant graveyard for you fuckers. But for the love of all that is holy – Baby Jesus, Buddha, Zeus, and whatever deity Eskimos pray to – get the fuck out of my gym.
I am almost 30. I had every intention of either dying in a badass explosion or bank heist or something sweet at 40, but recently my friend Tara convinced me that 50 is the new 40. Whatev, so long as I’m dead before I hit the age that I annoy the holy fuck out of everyone else in that comes in contact with me. “Brah, why are you so hostile to old people?”, you ask? Well let me explain to you exactly what I encounter every single day at my gym. There are 3 parking lots to use. The parking isn’t the greatest, but it’s certainly plentiful. And yet, every single day that I get to the gym, no matter what time it is, there is no parking, because EVERY FUCKING CAR IS PARKED IN 2 SPOTS. For some reason, even though these old fuckers obviously have all come from the same graveyard to piss me off, they don’t carpool or take one of those fancy geriatric buses that they get to use for free. So I get to take a quarter mile walk before my workout even starts.
As soon as I walk into the gym, I am greeted by the sight of about 40 fat old ladies, floating around on neon pink pool-noodles, like enormous, horrifying, pale lilypads in the pool that I was excited to use when I first signed up for the gym. Yeah, I think for the 8 months I’ve been a member, I’ve been in the pool twice. Somehow worse is the hot tub. I thought I’d be able to get more use out of it, but it’s like balls soup in there, because the old fuckers that manage to break a sweat from shuffling around the indoor track for 13 minutes don’t shower off before they get in it. I decided that soaking up the hemorrhoid juice bubbling around in the hot tub isn’t in my best interest, so I generally skip that too. I go into the locker room to put my gym bag away, and am immediately bombarded with old scrotums swinging around like fucking pendulums in fast forward. Every old dude is for some reason bending over naked in front of the only open lockers in the locker room, or standing like Captain Morgan and regaling each other with racist stories while drying their balls off. I swear to God, there is a public hair dryer in there – I have seen old guys blow drying their junk after the shower. Now, I don’t use a hair dryer, but I don’t need hot air blowing crusty pubes around the fucking locker room. It’s bad enough that I step on used bandaids in the shower.
On the days that I manage to not puke all over the place and run out of the gym horrified, I go up the stairs to start my workout. There are 2 sides to the gym – one is for cardio, the other is for weight training. On the cardio side, there are probably about 20 treadmills, 15 elipticals, 10 bikes, and a couple other random machines that no one ever uses because they were manufactured in the late ’70’s and will probably scrape you and give you tetanus if you attempt it. There are several clipboards hanging on the wall so you can sign up for a machine and you get to use it for a half an hour before you have to get off and sign up for another one. Annoying rule, but it gets busy in there, so I understand it. Except that the stupidass old people that go there don’t sign up for anything, they just pretend like they didn’t know about it when you say something to them, and get all indignant about it when you start yelling at them. What the fuck are you doing, walking at a 1.3 speed on a treadmill anyways? You can do that on the fucking track you stupid tardos. Fuck.
On the weight training side, I constantly have to stand guard on the machines I’m using between reps, because those muscle shirt, side boob showing old dudes and unitard wearing Forever 21 grandmas are fucking vultures, and will move your water bottle out of their way and then sit on your machine for fucking 25 minutes if you step off for even a second. Then, when you finally get your machine back, it smells like farts and covered in some kind of filmy residue that is left by snails and the fucking walking dead. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO WORK OUT YOUR TRICEPS, BERTHA? It’s like some asshole told them that doing tricep extensions with 10LBs is the equivalent of drinking out of the Fountain of Youth. Maybe I’ll go get free weights instead. Oh shit, nevermind. Some fat, super hairy old guy is doing is fat guy ab workout directly in front of the weight rack instead of in the designated ab workout area. Hank Hill would be pissed if he was real. That shit is designated for a reason, sonnnn. Maybe if I started accidentally dropping 25LB kettleballs on the dickholes that I have to reach over to get them, they’d learn. Or die. Either way, my problem would be temporarily solved.
Anyways. This isn’t very nature-esque, I guess. Although, it is nature’s fault that people get old. Or human nature? I dunno. Fuck you nature, regardless.
When I was a kid, I was rarely allowed to drink soda. Every now and then I’d get a delicious treat if I had to go to the doctor or didn’t get lunch or my dad was throwing a BBQ for family friends and coworkers and stuff. I remember how happy I would be, drinking my orange soda. It was like nectar straight from Jesus. My love for sugar grew, as my mom kinda went organic on my siblings and I…Do you know what carob is? If sugar is a gift from Heaven, carob is a blight from Hell. Holy fucking shit, carob sucks. And the worst thing is, that it looks identical to chocolate and the same consistency as chocolate, but it tastes like a bitter titty. Yeah. It is fucking terrible. Anyways, as the organic stuff in my house grew, I became more desperate for something delicious. Because of my need for sugar, I stupidly ate a heaping spoonful of fucking Crisco, thinking that it would taste like whipped cream, and took a shot of vanilla extract, because it smells so fucking good. Maybe I was a dumb kid, which is probably the case. Or maybe nature wanted to fuck me in the ass without asking at a young age. I’m going with a little of column A, a little of column B. But still, fuck nature.
Nature is basically a fucking drug dealer. “Hey brah, try some sugar! First sample is free,” says Nature. What you don’t know is that nature just implanted its seed of addiction deep within your tastebuds’ vaginas. And sugar is way worse than crack. First off, you can get physically addicted to it, which is bullshit, because if you eat too much of it, you get fat. And dia-fucking-betes. If you’re a fatass, you better start making up some sweet war stories now, because if you’re telling people that you only have 1 foot because you couldn’t stop eating donuts and shit…well, you might as well just join the fucking circus. Yeah you obviously get addicted to crack, but at least if you’re smoking crack, you get that gaunt, skinny, gross Mary Kate or Ashley Olsen look that is so popular these days (I don’t know which one of those freaks has the eating problem, they both look like E.T’s retarded siblings to me) and some abs before you find some alley doctor to get them removed to sell for more crack. Once you’ve tried sugar, you can’t win. You’re either going to be a fatty with a sweaty, fat taint, bulging so fattily that it looks like you’re wearing adult diapers at the age of 30, and with so much extra flabby skin that it makes your arms look like they have titty-wings, or you’re going to be suffering from low blood sugar. Which means headaches, crankiness, body aches, and any other shitty ache you can think of, that can only be cured by eating a cupcake.
Sugar is also in EVERYTHING. Even if you’re eating something that you think is sugarless, a potato for example, nature went and fucked you. Nature found a way to get humanities dumbasses fucked all naturally. My ma is allergic to gluten, so she can’t eat bread and basically anything with wheat in it. Sucks, because that is pretty much everything delicious. She eats a lot of potatoes and stuff like that. WELL guess what: potatoes are carbohydrates. And nature made sure that carbs turn into sugar. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, if you’re sitting there reading this, eating your raw fucking potato trying to be healthy, but eating carbs also leads to diabetes. Enjoy your 1 legged existence. Hey, maybe you should eat some fruit instead? JK, THAT SHIT IS CHOCK FULL OF SUGAR. Stupid fucking nature.
Obviously there is balance in the form of exercise, and I love exercise, but due to the American lifestyle that is working 10 hours per day on your ass, and then going home to eat leftovers and watch American Idol…Wait, actually, you know what? I’m not going to blame all of humanity. Yeah, there are some of those inbred Alabama assholes that eat beehives and drink syrup while they’re fucking their sisters in the electronics section of K-Mart, but I’m still going to blame nature. My friend Chris Davalos loves to run, and because of him being insane, that fucker is free to eat all of the Pizza Bagels and drink all of the Mountain Dew he wants, until nature tosses him the big dick slap, and his metabolism finally slows down. And then he’ll be sitting next to me, and we can talk about how awesome it was to eat ice cream cake, in our wheelchairs.
Fuck you, nature.