The following tidbits are brought to you courtesy of my customary disdain, provoked by the daily visit to the gym.
- Madame X: Later, when you’re just about to push B6 on the vending machine in the office kitchen, and one of The Girls ribs you about how you should maybe just have a piece of fruit or hahahaha split your snack with her hahahaha, are you going to brag about how you spent an hour and a half at the gym, and neglect to mention that 75 of those minutes were spent exercising your jaw and not your body?
- Trainer to the Pillsbury Doughgirl: May I suggest that before you have your client do that thing where you bounce a weighted ball at her and she feebly heaves it back at you, drops down to do a wobbly “squat thrust” and then a pushup where her back sags and she barely makes it down an inch, you first show her how to do a proper jumping jack?
In addition, please take another look at the memo, dated Monday, April 7, 1986, distributed on a planet-wide basis, in which the world at large was advised that the sort of sit-ups you inflict on your clients are incredibly bad for the entire body, including the “abs” they are supposed to develop, and ultimately do more harm than good.
- Stud: If your desire is to appear brawnily sexy, as I suspect it is given the way you insist on glancing at me every time you complete all of your “reps”, perhaps you would benefit from knowing that the florid face that results from holding your breath, the grimaces attendant thereto, and your inability to do a single perfect pushup all conspire to make me envision the same pathetic configuration in the bedroom, where you would wish to have me.