Dear Fellow Burners
Recently I started attending the gym located at the bottom of our building. And with each visit something unexplainable happens to me. As I enter that cold dark arena of grunting, snorting and all around male bravado an unknown aggression inside me builds. The sound of metal clunking together, the sight of teeth gnashing. Crazed beasts marching up and down, ipods in hand, chests puffed out, only broken by the sight of a couple of girls jogging effortlessly on treadmills in the background. Their bosoms rolling like vast swells in a violent ocean. Its impossible not to notice them as mirrors surround you in every direction you look. As a result you unconsciously find yourself competing for their approval
In the mist of all of this the atmosphere could only be described as ‘tense.’ So much so that at any moment all hell could break loose kicking off into some sort of chaotic mosh pit reminiscent of a Metallica concert or the video for System Of A Down’s ‘Chop Seuy’*.
On one such occasion I founded myself more aggravated then most. I’d already made a dismal attempt at the bench press. Now to move on to curls. I walked over to the weight shelf, eyes down, trying to keep my feelings of angst toward my fellow ‘gymers’ to a minimum. 17.5 will do just fine for curls today. The Japanese version of Hercules stepped up next to me. We glanced at each other. He looked down at the 17.5’s smirking arrogantly. I wanted to knock his head off right then and there, but in my heart of hearts I knew I didn’t stand much of a chance against this pumped up bastard. Move along you sonofabitch, I thought. Go do some stretching. Yeah that’s right. Run along. Amber on the treadmill was now in clear view so naturally I skipped over the 17.5’s and moved straight to the 35’s. Way above what I am capable of lifting, but I got caught up in the moment. I struggled over to the only free bench located in amongst the ‘chamber of mirrors.’ Japandroid from earlier was sitting on the bench next to me. Great I thought. What exactly is he doing? Mocking me? Taunting me! He’s certainly not doing any 'gyming.' The desire to fight him grew stronger. I envisioned tearing off my Nike ‘dry fit’ shirt and in one brisk movement ripping his head off. Amber on the treadmill having seen my brute strength would wonder over, at which point we’d ravish each other right there on the bench.
Snap out of it I thought. Ignore these horrible urges. Just concentrate on the task at hand. Lifting a mountain of weights without shitting out your own intestines.
But still that bastard starred at me. He expected me to fail but by god man I wasn’t about to give up now. Not today. Amber on the treadmill will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine.
All right that’s it. Get your back straight. Arms rigid. Looking good. Now easy does it… ‘Onnnnnneeeeeeee.’ That’s right baby. You’ve got this. ‘Spaniard, Spaniard, Spaniard. Channel Gladiator.’ “Tttttttwwwwooooo.” Almost there. My arm felt like it was going to snap at any moment but I kept my eyes on the prize. Eyes on the price? Who says that? Who am I?
“Threeee,” My face was slowly turning the color of a turnip. “Fouuuuur” Almost half way. “Fiiiiiiii” My right arm collapses under the weight, inciting laughter from Jerkulese who’d been watching all along.
Are you laughing at me? I said.
“What?” Replied Jerkulese.
“Yeah that’s right. You! You think I’m funny? You think this is a joke?
“Well…”
“Cause if you think for a second that the girl from 4501 likes you, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“What?” said Amber in astonishment, “how do you know where I live?”
“Whatever,” responded Jerkulese, “Amber’s been eyeing me out all week. Amber needs a real man. That can lift ‘real weights.’ Not a skinny boy like you.”
“How do you know my name?” asked a bemused Amber.
Ignoring her I responded, “Amber doesn’t need another beefcake. She needs a man with style. With intelligence. With substance.
“Oh really,” says Jerkulese, “and I suppose you’re the one to give it to her?” I rose up to meet the Goliath. We squared off like two cowboys in a dual. I could hear The Good, The Bad and the Ugly score whistling through my head. “Waaa, waaa, waaa”.
“What was that?” Said Jerkulese.
“You shut up!” I snapped, and with that I lurched at him. He elegantly moved to the right, sending me crashing into a giant inflatable stretch ball. I rebounded back off the ball as if in a wrestling ring, and hurtled towards him, arm out. “Close line. Bam!”
He lay helplessly on the cold ground. But I wasn’t done yet. An excitable crowd had built up around us, and I was going to give them what they wanted. I climbed up the weight shelf, standing on top of it, ready to jump onto the barely conscious Jerkulese.
“Jump” one shouted. “Crush him,” yelled another.. “Spaniard, Spaniard,” they began to chant. I looked around at the rows of gnashing teeth and clenched fists. What was I doing I thought. What had I become? I looked down at them with distain. “Are you entertained?” I asked them. “Is this not why you are here?” There was much grunting but no discernable response. I leapt forward. There was a hush as I flew through the air. I came crashing down next to Jerkulese's lame body with a thud. Fortunately a mat was there to cushion my fall. The crowd sighed, disappointed by my change of heart. I got up and offered out a hand of support, “Let me help you up my friend.”
He smirked and kicked violently at my ankles. I went tumbling down. Jerkules jumped up, rising over me. “Finish him” they cried. His fist came down like a hammer hurtling towards my face. I moved out of the way just in time, grabbed him in a headlock and in one brisk movement sent a knife slicing through his well-groomed ponytail.
“Last Samurai my ass” I said, holding up the loose ponytail in triumph.
There was a moment of silence. A look of pure disbelief swept over the crowd as the ponytail swayed in my hand.
“Well, that’s incredibly racist,” said one onlooker.
“He’s not even Japanese!” said another.
“Where did he get the knife?” inquired a third.
What have I become, I thought. Dear God what is this place turning me into. “You have disgraced yourself and your family,” said Jerkulese. I looked around at the sweaty men, judging me. “Its this gym.” I said, “These weights. All this testosterone clogging up the air. It’s messing with my head.” I broke down onto the ground, looking up to the heavens in despair.
“Father,” I sang, “why have you forsaken me? In your eyes forsaken me, in your thoughts forsaken me.” Jerkulese looked at me with pity, seeing the utter despair in my eyes. He dropped to one knee and joined in, “in your heart forsaken me”. All the men inspired by this moment of camaraderie embraced. Like a choir, we looked up the heavens and sang the chorus to Chop Seuy, “trust in our self righteous suicide, weeee cry when angels deserve to die, in our self righteous suicide. We cry, when angels deserve to die.”
There was an eerie, silence as twenty or so sweaty men, arm in arm stared toward the ceiling waiting for some kind of divine revelation but nothing came.
Eventually the door to the gym opened and in came a vision far more inspiring then an angel. The girl from 3604, clad in light blue hot pants and a white tank top. Men broke off quickly so as not to appear awkward, returning to their gym equipment with gusto. Much grunting and snorting ensued.
“She looks like fun ey?” I said to my disheveled looking comrade.
“She’s mine you son of a bitch”
I looked down, clenching my fists in rage, and made for the showers.
End
