I can't believe it's been two months since I've had anything to say. How is that possible? It's not. Really. It's not. I've just had a boat load of stuff going on. I can't tell you how many times I've been to the gym and seen a middle-aged ass hanging out of spandex, sat through a meeting listening to mental midgets blather on about how smaaaaaaaaaht they are, or cruised through the market only to be hissed at by a free-range toddler spitting and snatching cookies off the shelf, and thought "maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan I've got an angry letter for you!" Alas, those letters never got written because life got in the way. I kinda suck like that. I apologize. That letter to the spandex wearing freak at the gym (seriously, who wears a speedo to do cardio?) reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally needs to be written! In fact, I think that's where I'll take this apology, right back to our regularly scheduled asshattery:
Dear Speedo-sporting Douchebag,
You can't be serious. You can't be. No one in their right mind wears a Speedo, not even Michael Phelps! They are not flattering on the fittest of physiques, which yours doesn't even remotely resemble. Seriously man, I neeeeeeeeeed to get my cardio on. But when I walk into the gym and see your spandexed ass hanging out all over the machines, I just can't. I can't do it. I can't even touch the machine knowing your barely covered crack has been near it.
You have the softest thighs and roundest hips I have ever seen on a man. Spandex is NOT helping. In fact, it's traumatizing. The last time we saw you on the Helliptical machine, my son asked me why you were allowed to work out in your underwear while everyone else had to wear pants! You're scarring the children, homie! Scarring them!
For the love of all that is holy, cover up the junk in your trunk! Hell, cover up the trunk too! It's just wrong! And burn the spandex Speedo. Burn them so you won't ever be tempted to wear them in public or private again. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. And really, you shouldn't.
Sincerely,
The crack-phobic fatty waiting for a clean machine.
Thanksgiving Letter to the Family
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Dear Family, Once again, we will gather for turkey and all the trimmings
this Thanksgiving. Trump remains a pain in my rump, but I have decided to
rise ab...
5 months ago
4 comments:
Hahahah! This is why I just consider my gym membership "The Fat Tax." I can't go there. I can't!!
Man, we FINALLY got rid of the geriatric stripper at the gym! It was great for months, and then THIS ass clown shows up! I don't even know where he finds those shorts. They are neon colors, and soooo tiny. I'm thinking maybe he shops at the stripper store.
Oh
My
God!
Who works out in their man panties?! (manties, for short) That's so freaking vile. He's scarring *and* scaring the children. And the adults for that matter. I will never understand people. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, "They're the worst!"
Seriously, Sheryl. I keep trying to sneak a picture of him, but he always works out in front of the mirrors so he can watch his ass bounce I guess. One day I will succeed and send it to you so you can share in my pain. Manties. I'm totally teaching the boys that word!
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