Gyms smell, this is not a new revelation. I have trained my nose with the power of immunity to ignore the bouquet of funk in my gym. For example, there is the enormous guy afflicted with Perspiration Exrcetionitus, he produces more water than a Nimbus cloud. There is the skinny guy that obviously suffers from Ivory Aversioneria. For those not familiar with that term and I expect none of you are since I just made it up, it’s a severe allergic reaction to soap. Finally, there is the gay old guy that has been stricken with Flatulence Slipus Amongus, he leaves a trail of thick green fart fog everywhere he roams. In all honesty, I should blame
The other day I walked into the gym and my nose revolted. It didn’t take long for me to become discombobulated. A foreign scent in the air overwhelmed my immunity. After a brief investigation, I realized that it was the smell of retard. They were everywhere; it was like watching Ewoks scurrying through the forest. If you have never smelled retard count your blessings, the stench is a combination of the three above-mentioned aromas. And when you mix the three smells into a nauseating cocktail for your nostrils it’s like flesh eating Strep bacteria, pretty much immune to everything. I was in trouble.
Now this isn’t my first run-in with retards. About six months ago, I went to the gym to play ball and a blockade of tards met me as I walked onto the basketball court. They were walking arm to arm down the court as if they were searching for something on the floor. The scene reminded me of an episode of C.S.I. when the investigators combed crime scenes for clues. In this case, the retards were looking for a contact lens that one of them had lost. After ten minutes of frantic searching from the “investigators” and of me having convulsions from laughter “the victim” of the lost lens spoke up…” I found it!” It seems that he lost his contact lens in his eye. That is the last place I would have though to look.
Due to the previous experience my initial thought was to turn around and run but being the trooper that I am I took a deep breath and drudged into battle.
The first line of assault came in the form of “The Shaker.” He was sitting in a chair rocking back and forth with a look of impending vomit on his face. I asked him “are you OK?” not because I was genuinely concerned about his health but if he was going to vomit I wanted to be out of his line of fire. He looked up at me, I say that, but I am not sure he was looking at me, he had crazy eyes, and then he walked away. Holy shit! A retard that was too good to speak to me. I survived the initial attack.
Next was “The Curious Wanderer”, he snuck up on me with the stealth of a fat woman climbing stairs. I had just put my earphones on when I noticed his hand gestures; it was like watching someone trying to direct traffic at a demolition derby. He began to pointing at my IPOD asking could he hold it. The only explanation that I have for what followed next is that the smell led to my disorientation. I handed him my IPOD as he proceeded to tell me that he had one blah, blah, blah…after taking my IPOD back and putting my earphones back on I figured he would leave. I misjudged the level of persistency in retards. Normal gestures such as turning the volume up to twenty to drown someone out does not work on retards. So, instead of sitting there looking like an asshole and risking him following me to every machine I engaged him in conversation once again. It went something like this:
The Curious Wanderer: “What kind of music do you have?”
Me: “All kinds”
The Curious Wanderer: “Do you like rap?”
Me: “Yes”
The Curious Wanderer: “Are you listening to rap?”
Me: “No, Country”
The Curious Wanderer: “?”
Ironically, Miss Cleo was right. I was listening to rap, but by this time, I had regained my senses. There was no way I was going to debate him on who was more influential in the rap movement, The Fat Boys or Kool Moe Dee. More importantly, I was not feeling lucky, so there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to play retard roulette with my earphones and run the risk of him asking to listen. Country was his kryptonite and my escape. He looked as if I had asked him what color his shirt was when I said “Country.” This altercation left me wounded but I forged ahead.
At this point, I knew that my defenses were weakened and I needed to power up so I made my way to the Nautilus equipment. Just as the oasis that was the leg lift came into my view, Pickachu Doo Doo cut me off. He looked just like Pickachu and smelled like shit. He, unlike the others was using the weight machines. I figured it was highly likely that he possessed retard strength, not wanting to engage in battle with him I detoured and ended up at the stretch mats.
My safety only lasted a split second. Here I encountered another enemy of my sanity…the feminine pedophile and his lawyer. I swear to me this guy was getting legal advice while stretching on the mat, apparently he had exposed himself to a young boy. This waste of oxygen looked like a rejected American Idol contestant. Exposing himself to anyone is a crime against humanity and he should be punished by having to watch every Super Bowl back to back while having Cannibal Corpse bang his eardrums at high levels. Finally, Chuck Norris should pummel him to death. Just as I was about to tell him this “The Shaker” stormed back into the gym. No longer was his shaking a mystery. He was pissed at ‘The Curious Wanderer.”
He made a beeline straight for his throne, sat down, and took his shoe off. Contemplating his next move, he paused and then flung his shoe, as a monkey flings shit, at “The Curious Wanderer.” Bullseye! He hit the Wanderer in the back of the head. I was expecting a melee to ensue. I prepared myself for the hilarity of a retard slobberknocker but what I got was campfire kumbaya. To my disappointment, the Wanderer turned around and just laughed. His laughter set off a chain reaction of tard cackling that rivaled hyenas. None louder than “Una “tard” Bomber”, this guy bared an uncanny resemblance to Ted Kaczynski. Luckily, for me the only contact I had with him was eye contact. He looked like he could seriously blow some shit up. It was at this point the tard wrangler rounded them up and shuffled them to the van. I suppose they can only handle so much excitement in one day.
“The Curious Wanderer” looked at me and waved as he exited the gym. I waved back and became somewhat sad. Then it hit me… everyone needs a little retard in their life. But it’s much more pleasant if you have a cold and can not smell.
A few things before you start sending hate mail to save you some time spell checking and me some bandwidth.
- Telling me that I am an asshole is not an insult.
- I am fully aware that I am going to Hell.
- I do not plan to have children. At this point, I realize that the kid would be severely fucked up.
A final word for the retarded…if by chance you read this and you are retarded, good for you, there are some pretty big words in this babble. Pat yourself on the back…
And take a bath for my sake.
0 comments:
Post a Comment