Some good ol' fashioned bitchin'.....

First off, if you are 1) Male, and 2) go to a fitness club then here are a few pointers for you while getting prepared for your workout:

- Minimize the Naked-time. I'm not interested in seeing or smelling your naked ass. Neither is anyone else.
- The sinks are for washing your hands in - not shaving, brushing teeth, mixing power-shakes or puking in.
- The change room is like a library: brief conversations are tolerated, as long as you are fulfilling your main goal for being in the change room - CHANGING.
(One-leg-on-the-bench-check-out-my-unit exhibitionists are excluded. You people shouldn't talk. Period. You belong at HEDONISM II - Not the men's change room at the local Fitness club)
- I must re-iterate: MINMIZE the naked time. For example, use a towel. Again, nobody there wants to see you naked. Accept this and move on.

The above comments were inspired after a nasty experience in the change room at my gym yesterday. I had ingested a good dose of chinese food for lunch and unfortunately for me, my colon decided to get active about the time I arrived at the gym for my workout. So I grudgingly obliged and entered one of the stalls to do my business (An activity that should be avoided outside of your own residence unless absolutely nessesary) The stalls in my particular gym's change room happen to be directly accross from the sinks, of which there are 3, with a mirror behind them. Thus when exiting these stalls, one can see themself exiting, as well as anyone who happens to be at the sink, washing their hands (I assume - see note 2 above.) On this particular occasion, I finished my business, annoyed with the timing of my colon, and exited the stall - hoping to proceed to the sink, wash my hands, and then exit the change room.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case. When I exited the stall, what I saw was not my reflection in the mirror above the sinks, but an massive, sweaty, hair-covered ASS directly in front of me. I quickly looked away, but it was too late. The image was engraved in my memory; no doubt to be the root many a nightmare in the near future.
The worst part was, that in my haste to get to the sink and wash my hands an ever more terrible image in the mirror was revealed: a full frontal of obesity, hair and sweat corresponding to that disgusting ass.

This dude had decided that THIS was an appropriate place for a shave, BEFORE he showered - can't forget to seep one's stank into the walls first. Oh, and of course - butt naked. No towel. No Underwear. Just an oversized birthday suit.
To further solidify his prick-like behaviour, he HAD to select middle sink of the three. Trying desprately not to let myself say a few derogatory comments to this fucker, it went unnoticed that the sink I approached was covered in a substance that can only be described as what looked like pulp from grapefruit juice. I didn't even want to give my imagination an instant of time to contemplate what the substance was, I moved to the third sink absorbing some more stank from the glutton in the middle, washed my hands and exited the change room, scarred for life.

For fuck's sake people, you should know better.

Now my bad experience didn't end there. Oh no, this was just the beginning of the madness.

After the gym I was driving home and was trying to decide whether to take the Gardiner or Lakeshore. The sign always says that the Gardiner is slow, which usually doesn't indicate jack-shit, but just to be safe I decided to take the lakeshore anyway. I knew as soon as I had gone beyond the point of no return, that I had made a major mistake.

Keep in mind that it was 38 degrees outside and my air conditioning doesn't work.

In the back of my mind, I was slowly recalling my lunch hour jaunt in a co-worker's automobile where playing on some garbage radio station was an interview with some band with a bad British accent and how they were playing the amphitheatre that evening.

I was also remembering the broken water main that had yet to be fixed which had reduced the lakeshore down to ONE lane right at the amphitheatre’s parking lot. Fantastic.

Oh - and there was also the fact that this was the day that the entire population of Carnies from Utah, Oregon and the shitty part of Florida had decided to converge on Toronto, towing their highly unsafe & crappy rides, shitty rigged games and edible oil product booths behind their underpowered Ford trucks (Circa 1979) for the Canadian National Exhibition which starts in a few days.

I hate the fucking Ex. It always smells like vomit.

Anyway, it was stop and go (more stop) for the next 52 minutes to get to Strachan (Usually a 10 minute drive). My undershirt at this point was serving no purpose at all - thank-you, whoever coined the term business casual. It's just business attire without a goddamn tie and it still sucks.
While playing catch-up and fall-back with a car full of pre-pubescent head bangers, seeing the countless shirtless gut-ridden men, semi-shirted balding men (A.K.A. Wife-beater ridden) and the uncanny concentration of mullets coifed by the pedestrians on the sidewalk beside us, it dawned on me that tonight was all about the Def Leppard. (Good god, don't even THINK of clicking on that!)

"Yes Dorothy, this IS hell - now come here and pour some sugar on me"

Boy, what was really astonishing was the fact that there are kids half my age not only listening to - but also attending a Def Leppard Concert. THIS - not war in Iraq, not the crumbling of the U.S. economy, or new diseases such as SARS or West Nile - should be scaring the FUCK out of us.

Well, after all that I eventually got home.

Just felt like bitching - gotta let these things out now and then.

"We'll drive like bandits on the Queensway" - Martina Sorbara