More people at the gym…

Okay, so why waste time telling you where I have been, what sights I’ve seen or what jobs I’ve failed to get?
The answer:  This isn’t one of those blogs.  Sure, I have the occasional story to tell and FEELINGS to share but I would rather ignore that stuff and simply illustrate whatever(s).

I am continuing with my series: PEOPLE AT MY GYM!!!

This week, I have featured the most physically offensive man I have ever seen.  He’s not hideously deformed by some sickness or disease nor is he deformed by some car (or boat) accident.
He simply grew this way.  As you will see, this man likes to workout.  He carries a gallon of water with him at all times.  At first glance, I assumed he was 1/4 pitbull.  I sometimes imagine him wearing a spikey collar around his neck and being praised as having killed 23 other dogs.

But when I look into this dog-mans eyes I don’t hear a Sarah Mclachlan song and I especially don’t feel like donating money so he can find a better home.  This man walks from occupied machine to occupied machine asking, “Are you done with this?!”

I’ve seen it happen a few times.  It finally happened to me this past week.  When asked, I said (with a less than strong voice) “Umm well, yeah.  I’m just taking a brea…”  He interrupted with an audible “Poof” noise that seemed to come from the jowls of a vexed dog (remember I have already compared him to a dog.  That’s clear, right?) and walked away.

Nothing makes for a good workout more then the feeling that someone’s going to bite you in your calf.

The NEXT picture shows a scene of two female friends.  I have not spoken to them but this is their exact story.  I swear it’s true.  They are former UGA cheerleaders that married dudes who drive BMW’s and insist on saying “Jack Johnson can rock sometimes.”  I find these women particularly unpleasant to look upon because I can almost SEE their words flap out of their mouths.  I imagine the words are the color of spray-on tan solution.  Why wouldn’t it be?

If you think I’m being negative and judgmental…well, yeah I am.  The lesson here isn’t tolerance.  No.  It’s to stop being so grody to the max.


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