Free for me, but not for thee

I would kill to see the uncut version of this profoundly important testimonial. I've watched this seven times today, and I plan on watching it seven more times.

Next speaker.

Taking internal organs for a jog

Must read:
Andy from the Dose went to a laugh club a couple of years ago.

Bi's, Tri's, and Back on Mon, Wed, Fri

This photo of Madonna has stirred some thoughts:

1) I am so horny right now. I am way into old man arms. I just want those puppies wrapped around my body while we watch a Rom Com on AMC under some blankies.
2) Or even better getting help opening a pickle jar. Honey, can you give me a hand?
3) And lastly, an embarrassing encounter I had a few years ago when I was at the gym in Kenmore Square. It was a no-frills joint on the second floor of the building across from the Citgo sign. I signed up at this place instead of the nearby, and superior, Gold's Gym because I could save $4 a month. Plus, the kid who showed me around really sold me on the personality (read: glaring shortcomings of the physical plant) of the place.

Here were the selling points:
It's not a chain. We're a mom and pop shop. Who needs A/C when you are working out and trying to break a sweat? Towels? Wouldn't you rather use your own towel? Not much has changed in the past 30 years as far as equipment goes. This isn't a pussy Nautilus gym like the chains down the street. This is a gym for us guys.

Sold. One year commitment. Direct deposit.

One humid August night I was sweating my balls off, while dabbing myself with my own towel, using the preacher curl bench that was held together by wire and duct tape. It was one of the few machines that wasn't a free-weight setup, but had the stacked weights on the pulley system.



I sat down and began eye-balling a girl no older than 20 years old (I was 26 so no EWWW you dirty old man comments. Those are not applicable here, but are probably warranted on every other post. I just want to maintain my innocence when in fact I am innocent.) who was stretching out on the mats across the room. She was one of the five female members, but the only one without an adams apple. On top of that, she was really attractive—by any standards. She would still be considered a knockout at LA Fitness—in LA. She wore yoga pants (God's gift to men since the end of the spandex era) and a sports bra. Her body was rocking. And unlike most gym rats with slamming bodies she didn't have a busted face or a lazy eye. She was hot all around.

I was using the double mirrored approach while stalking her. It's a move that guys think make them invisible, but the reality is we aren't behind two-way mirrors looking at a police line-up. Like a trucker, if you can see his mirrors then he can see you.

By that same logic, well, she could see me. I got caught. Badly. I panicked and picked up the bar and began curling whatever weight was left on the stack.

It was too much.

I was struggling after 5 reps. Although I am ripped, or as some say shredded, I am not very strong when it comes to bicep workouts. I just can't lift a lot, but my form is fucking pristine.

Textbook curls.

Despite having too much weight on the stack I managed to get 12 reps in, but I was completely fatigued by 10 and barely managed to eek out the set. On the last curl I dropped the bar and the stack of weights made a loud crashing sound that reverberated throughout the gym. I stood up. My vision was blurred and I was completely out of breath. I tried to play it off like I was in control and just had a very productive workout. I did some fake stretches and looked off into space hoping my body would somehow recover. Moreover, I was hoping nobody, especially the hot chick, would notice that I was in trauma and on the verge of passing out.

Not so much. Not only was she looking at me, but she was walking in my direction. At first I thought she may have been walking toward the water bubbler (fountain for those of you outside 495,) but realized that the preacher curl setup was in the corner. Also, there wasn't a clock above my head. I know becuase I turned around and checked. She was coming straight for me.

I smiled at her, and as she approached I introduced myself like the suave mother fucker that I am.

Me: Hey, I'm Matt
(I put out my hand so she could have the honor of shaking it)
Her: (confused)…you mind if I work in?
Me: Huh?
Her: (annoyed) You mind if I work in?
Me: Oh! Yeah, sure. I just started. Of course. Let me wipe the…
Her: It's OK.

She sat down and in an instant completely emasculated me with one fell swoop. She took out the pin in the stack of weights, and added a couple of plates. And for those of you keeping score at home, she was beginning her workout with more weight then I maxed out with just moments before.

Naturally, she had perfect form. She knocked out 12 reps without any visible signs of distress. She stood up and gave me the nod that the bench was free.

Still reeling from the first set, and hoping for more recovery time, I awkwardly sat back down and realized my dilemma. What do I do about the weight? I barely got the last set off and should probably go down a plate or two if I were going to lift responsibly.

What did the shithead do?

1. Swallowed my pride and scaled back on the weight
2. Kept the pin at the same weight as her and hoped the adrenaline would help me bang out 10 reps
3. Added another plate to the stack so I could impress the shit out of her with my braun
   

Naturally, I chose option 3. I took the pin out and added another plate. Like tipping a bartender, I made sure my timing was just right so she could witness my heroics.

I made some adjustments in my seat, exhaled deeply, and began lifting the bar. Instantly, I felt a sharp pain in my left elbow. I didn't experience the burn in my bicep muscles, but instead felt like something was off mechanically. I powered through the pain and brought the bar up to my neck.

ONE.

I lowered the bar slowly and felt sweet relief as I let the tension go. I paused and knuckled up the second rep with a loud grunt. I felt my tendons tear. To compensate for the lack of power in my biceps I contorted my back and flailed my legs.

TWOOOOO.

Unlike the slow descent on the first rep I let the bar fall a little faster and clanked the weights again. I took an extra moment before making my third attempt. Again, I clenched my fists and pulled the bar toward my chin. As my forearms became parallel with the floor I wondered if it were possible to completely tear off a tendon. I showed good form by once again leaning my hips and lower back forward. I had a searing pain shoot from my shoulder to my elbow. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth.

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Oh fuck. The bar made a free fall back to the starting position making an especially loud clanging sound. I was beginning to do simple math. I have 7 more to go. I have done 3. If I double that effort I will still have 1 more to go. I don't even think I can do one more let alone 6 more on top of that. I began to feel the sweat pouring off my brow and into my eyes. I resumed my good form and went for number four. This time, I yelled like I was being tortured as the bar crept up slowly to my chin. My arms were shaking and I was rocking my back to and fro. Both arms were now in complete trauma.

ARGGGGGHHHGHHHGH FOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

As the plates crashed down once again, I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was beat red. I wasn't even halfway. I was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Failure wasn't avoidable. The only thing I was shooting for was how badly I was going to fail. I wondered about a brain aneurysm as I attempted to go for number 5. I got the bar about 1/4 from the resting point and hit the wall. Like an arm wrestler I held my position for as long as I could, but physics would eventually prevail. I was exhaling so loudly that I was making raspberry sounds that little kids do while pretending to ride motorcycles. My entire body was convulsing. My face turned from red to purple.

I buckled. The bar fell and the weights crashed back to the stack. The sound wasn't as bad this time because I was only a few inches off the stack.

I literally started blacking out. My vision narrowed and I began to see stars. I was dizzy. As I stood up I nearly fell. I turned my back to the machine and the hot girl in yoga pants and made my way to the exit. I descended the stairs, one step at a time and with the assistance of the handrail, and spilled out onto Comm Ave like a drunk who was just thrown out of a bar.

Tickets?! Who needs em? Tickets here! Got' em? Need em?

Trust falls

Opie started barking just a minute ago. Unlike the typical instigator—a harmless falling leaf—it was a group of teenagers hanging out, ironically, in front of the haunted jack-o-lantern house. I calmed him down by giving him a scratch behind the ears, and returned to my computer. Then I heard a crack.

I know that sound. Someone just got punched in the face.

I ran back to the window and saw two of the kids fighting. None of this pussy shoving match type stuff, but good old fashioned street fighting. The black kid, who was holding 2 video games in his hand, had the advantage until the white kid gave an undercut to his balls. Fight was over. The poor kid leaned back against the fence and waved him off. No mas.

Then, they lit up a joint and passed it around and walked away like nothing ever happened.

No summer camp for these kids.

I need to move

You ever get the feeling that a house is looking at you?

You're welcome readers

Be back soon kids. I love each and every one of you like you were my own children. Except you reader #27. I hate you. You were adopted. And a mistake. We mistakenly adopted you.