One thing and then I'll go...

I’ve come to realize one thing and that is the simple fact that I am a writer. Sure, I can do other things but I’ll always love fucking with words more than anything else. Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve gathered up the energy to send out another round of query letters. It’s me against the publishing world and I hate to fucking lose…

Gym Rat

Things were slow at the gym and when I say slow I mean grapes turning into wine slow. I had three new clients that had signed up to take advantage of their free training sessions-- which are given to each new member that joins the gym--and they hadn’t shown up. This was common. The word free somehow fixed in their minds that punctuality and even showing up were optional. They didn’t for one moment consider that I might have better things to do than wait for them to get up the gumption to clean the Cheeto dust off the fronts of their shirts and make their way into the gym.

And so I was forced to walk the floor and mingle with the members; offer advice on lifting technique, pull weights off the top of those that attempted to lift too much weight and just generally shoot the shit. This wasn’t the worst job but on a slow night, with no one to talk to except my reflection in one of the mirrors that lined the wall, I sound found myself on the verge of going mad. Each tic of the clock sounded like a hillbilly beating on an oil drum with the butt of a 12 gauge shotgun. I knew that if I stood still for too long that I just might fall asleep on my feet so the only thing left to do was to walk.

I headed towards the rear of the building where the machines were housed. This area is generally used by women and men that have slightly more testosterone than a field mouse.

As I entered the back room I was surprised attacked by the blinding visual of an extremely large woman’s ass. She was lying on an exercise ball and flailing around like a haddock on a sheet of sandpaper. The ass was so big I was sure a certified pilot could land a helicopter on it.

“Horrifying,” I said under my breath.

Deep inside I felt violated, forced to gander at a ghastly human monument the constructs of which were a testament to the whoopee pie and soda diet of the average American citizen. I tried to force myself to look away but the same phenomenon of morbid curiosity one encounters when passing a car wreck wouldn’t allow me to do so. Quite frankly I’d never seen an ass quite that big.

I bent down to pick a towel up off the ground and without warning the woman did a one-eighty on top of the ball and was suddenly staring me straight in the eyes.

“You were getting off on my junk,” she said.

“No, I was merely observing your technique on the exercise ball. It was very good. Carry on.”

She leaped up off the ball with surprising agility. “That’s bullshit. I saw that look in your eyes.”

“I assure you that any “look” you might have perceived was of a strictly professional nature.”

She took a step towards me and extended her index finger. “That’s bullshit.”

“Damn it you have a huge fat ASS!” I said. “I wasn’t looking at it because it was good looking. I was looking at it because it was the biggest ass I’ve ever seen in my life. You could take a team photo of the Pittsburgh Steelers sitting on that thing.”

Now she was really mad. I saw her fist close into a fist and she swung. Luckily she was as slow as she looked and I easily dodged the punch. I got behind the exercise ball so that she couldn’t attack me again.

“You need to calm down. You’re out of control,” I said.

“I’m going to get my man,” she said and stormed out of the room.

I figured this was as good a time as any to check out the catwalk in the ceiling that Trevor the night desk attendant had told me about. The gym was housed in the building that was once a department store.

I went to the janitor’s closet and climbed the ladder to the catwalk. Once up in the ceiling I hit a light switch and the entire space lit up. As I ventured out onto the catwalk I noticed that the orbs in the ceiling which I had thought were decorative light fixtures were actually two way mirrors that a person could use for surveillance. I could see the woman with the huge ass storming around and ranting to some guy sitting on a bench press. I smiled and lay back on the catwalk. A nap seemed just about right…

Gym Rat – The New Series That Could Become A Book

It was Good Friday, April 14^th 2006 and I was working the floor at Barlow’s Gym. It was my third week into the foray of the personal training business and I was performing the same mundane tasks that a circus seal could pull off, though the little cocksucker would have many troubles holding a spray bottle. That’s right, I was wiping down the machines after obese, sweating and often angry clientele were done getting their fitness fix. It was degrading but what in life isn’t? I had to pay the bills and this had seemed like as good a prospect as any.

Shoveling away the bullshit

I’m having a hard time right now giving a fuck about this screwed up world. Will I ever get around wanting to do things in the best way possible? Corporate America has screwed us out of money and time and ultimately our lives. For an example of what I am talking about I will cite the fitness industry. I’m going to let you in a little secret. Almost all the abdominal gadgets, butt shapers, muscle magazines, multi-gyms, instructional videos, thigh squeezers, cardio machines etc are sold not to better your health but to make a profit. In fact most of what is sold as the next best exercise gadget or concept is a new and worse version of a lie perpetuated by the fitness industry. You will not lose fat from your midsection by using the newest abdominal stretcher touted by Joe Fitness Weasel. There is no such thing as spot reduction! If you burn more calories than you take in you will lose fat from all areas of your body. Usually the fat loss will be most noticeable in the face and neck but it varies from person to person. This is just one example of a lie that the fitness industry perpetuates so they can sell you another useless gadget. Try a set of leg raises. They’re free and more effective than any piece of shit sold on the fitness market.

There is legitimate information out there on getting into shape but you have to search it out. Don’t expect Corporate America to do anything for you except take your money. They don’t give a fuck whether you’re healthy or not in fact it behooves them to keep you out of shape and buying the next best fitness lie.

Do yourself a favor don’t read muscle magazines or watch infomercials. Search out someone that has been successful in whatever it is you want to change in your life. Use your computer and search out the best information available and use your HEAD and rely on personal experience when deciding what is legitimate and what isn’t. This goes for all areas of life. I for one am tired of being fucked over by Corporate America. They have conned us into believing in numerous untruths so that they can empty our pockets. I want to do things the right way, in the best way possible. If I’m training someone in the gym I don’t want to use some shitty $10,000 machine that isn’t as effective as an old fashioned push-up. If I’m writing a novel I want to make it unique and funny and the best damn story it can be. I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be my own person in whatever I do and for me that means shoveling away the bullshit and despite negative repercussions--such as not making as much of a profit—I will continue to push for what works, for what is real, for the truth. So fuck you Corporate America. This is one person that hasn’t bought into your bullshit.

The Weasels are closing in

“Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.”
-Hunter S. Thompson

This

It’s a goddamn shame that it had to come to this. I know I know you’ll want to know what “this” is but suffice to say that “this” is something very very bad. You see I’ve spent the last three months trying to avoid “this” using every available tactic in my considerable arsenal of charms to steer you away from the great black abyss that is “this”.

Yes, I do take part of the blame but not all of it, not for “this”. You must shoulder some of the blame, if not for that, then for “this”.

When blue bleeds into black

Sometimes it is entirely fucking prudent to hack off the last limb of the filthy cocksuckers that have a hold of your dreams. They are a cowardly bunch--caught up in a twisted maze constructed of battered high school football helmets and the empty beer cans from bonfires of yore. They want nothing more than to pull you back into that tar pit of the past, for your bones to lie like the blocks to a Jenga game on those that did nothing before you. Where their minds make a wrong turn is in believing that they have something you want. Wrong. Though your paths may cross, though you may share interests, what should be remembered is that you two are entirely fucking different, that you are entirely you and your legs are heavy stone pillars. They will never move you. They will never pull you back into the muck…

Pissed Off

So, I was at lunch with people from the office. We were in this pseudo-Irish Pub down the street and were seated in the back at a large round table. Our waitress was very tall with curly redish hair and blue eyes. I guessed her to be in her early twenties.

"What do you want?" she asked.

I order a chicken wrap. I specified that I wanted the side salad with the wrap rather than the French Fries. The waitress quickly wrote my order down and rushed off.

We sat there for fifteen minutes until our food came and I immediately saw by looking at the tray that they had fucked up my order which happened at this place before when I order the same meal. Evidently there is a half wrap with a salad lunch special and when I order the regular Chicken wrap and requested the salad instead of fries our waitress got confused. This was no big deal to me so this is what I said, “Excuse me. I ordered the whole wrap.”

Do you know what this fucking bitch had the nerve to say to me?

She said, “No, you didn’t you ordered the half wrap.”

While she was speaking to me she very hostily got in my face and bugged her eyes out at like a pitbull.

To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. I was fucking pissed. She was acting venomously towards me and she was the one that made the mistake! Hell, I was even being nice about it.

Could I have made a mistake? Was there any way I ordered the half wrap? Fuck no. I’ve never ordered a half anything in my life. I don’t eat HALF wraps or sandwiches or half anything. I eat the whole fucking thing. I burn a lot of calories every damn day.

So, anyway, this waitress brought the other half of the wrap out which was twice as big as the first one she gave me. Go figure. The wrap she first brought out wasn't enough to feed a pigeon. Was she pissed because maybe she was planning on eating it on her break?

“Enjoy,” she said with the most condescending voice I’ve ever heard and tossed the plate onto the table.

I damn near almost got up from the table and tackled her right there. I had done nothing to provoke her and she was acting like a fucking little bitch. I should have gone to the manager but my boss didn’t want me to cause a stink so I left the restaurant.

I understand everyone has bad days but that is one fortunate waitress. She's lucky I was with fellow employees or I would have had her head on a platter. Needless to say I’m not going back to Ceoltas in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. This is not the first time I've experienced bad service there but it will be the last.

Something Still

I’m not getting you. Not that I’m really trying to but your inner self is a broken down Chevy under a canopy of leafy greens and although I’ve weed whacked the shit out of the vacant lot that is your life I STILL can’t find you. So what do you say? Come out come out wherever you are? It’s only a matter of time before you get itchy and come crawling back to the trailer park where I’ll be waiting with a case of Budweiser and a tube of that aloe moisturizer you love so much. I don’t have the energy to look for the real you anymore. Come on, surrender to the lies it’s easier that way. In my heart you’ll always be the person that you pretend to be.

Playboy Bunny

I miss you and I don't even know you...I mean not intimately. Maybe you could come over and I could show you all the Playboy magazines I found when I was ripping out the walls in my sister's building. If that offends you then it's not true but still it might have made me feel like a little kid again and that would be good for my current state of depression. So, if you decide it would be bad for that to be true then I could say I definitely respect you as a woman and that I don't have 65 Playboy magazines sitting on my coffee table. Okay? Are we square? Good. Now, if you could just come over at 7:10 instead of 7:00. I have to uh do some cleaning before we watch the DVD's you rented. And please don't look in my hall closet. Its dirty in there...