Meet Gym Grunters

You know what I hate? Gym Grunters. I know, when you say that aloud, it sounds like the name of a real estate agent with bushy sideburns. But I'm not referring to that Jim Grunters. I'm referring to those really annoying buffheads at the gym who think they're being impressive when they make orgasma noises while working out.

Here's a newsflash: KNOCK IT the EFF OFF! You are not cool. You are not sexy. You do not make me want to 'do' you. You do not impress me. You are not as strong as you think you are. You look like an idiot. You look like a retard. You look like a retarded idiot!

Let's just get something straight here: I pushed an 8-pound child through my 1-inch-diameter hoo-ha and didn't grunt as much as the idiot at LA Fitness this morning. The entire building shook. There were large ripples in the olympic-sized pool. Fat ladies' cellulite shimmied. All because of our hero, Gym Grunters, who undoubtedly ended his workout with a cigarette and nap.

Honestly, I was ready to murder him. I'm pretty sure I could have gotten away with it -- you know, the 'self-defense' defense. Like, "were I not to kill him, I surely would have killed myself." But instead of taking an ax to his grunting head, I skipped my second set of the lower bitorsal lunge presses and headed for home. Now my bitorsals will be all off balance. One side bigger than the other and shit.

Thanks, Gym Grunters! Thanks a lot.

P.S. My apologies for not posting more often. I received some very shocking and horrible news recently...I got a job. Alas, my year of unemployment ends. It was quite a ride. While I haven't yet started (Sept 5), I find myself trying to milk my last moments of laziness. The good news is that "where there are people trying to act important, there are many a blog to be written."