I've been going to this gym since we got where we're at now in January. Hi! I'm about to run the wheels right off this one but before we get rollin, it's important to mention life's pret-t-fuk-n-gud when all that's left to cry about is the culty culture at the gym.
Because what should be more harder than the death
Says the caption on the TV on the right.
Because what's a gym without a televised pope parading around Vatican City?
Said the author on the delivering side of these censures.
And those two ladies on the elliptical machines to the left; they stood in the middle of that aisle with their hands resting on each others shoulders, head to head, faces pointed at the ground, praying together longer than they'll exercise those machines together.
They only have three channels in The South—sports - politics - religion. In that order, too.
I'm Christian, by the way. Not sure I've disclosed that info because it shouldn't concern you like whether or not you're wearing matching socks right now doesn't concern me. I'm hip to all that New Testament stuff. Religious, however, like it's an architectural marvel with priceless art and crucifixes hanging on the walls so the people inside are good.
Hell no.
Have a blessed workout!
I got my earbuds in, they're maxed out before I open the door. I've heard what comes out of their face so many times at the reception desk as guests or I enter the facility that although my earbuds are cranked up as loud as they'll go, their lips mutter the same six syllables clear as holy water (4, 5, mhm 6), "have a blessed workout!"
They don't say blessed with a normal 'ed' on it, either, like guessed or pressed or anything else past tense. Their 'ed' is its own syllable and is pronounced "it."
Have a bless-it workout!
Don't tell me what to do!!!!
Jesus Is My Savior
Says the front of dudes bright red shirt doing tricep extensions on the pull-down cables.
Trump Is My President
Says the back.
Make
America
Great
Again
Says a completely different dudes hat on the other side of the gym curling dumbbells.
If the imagination you brought to the internet with you today painted each of the above mentioned characters white, you're on
Fire!
Wake on up from your stubborn (extend stubborn about 2 seconds—stuuuubborn). Open up your eyes.
Wake on up from your stuuuubborn. Open up your eyes. Wake on up from your stuuuubborn. Open up your eyes
Says the Bose powered, Dolby digital surround sound emanating from every fourth ceiling tile.
My earbuds don't go loud enough. I can't escape it. What happens is, I focus so much on my earbuds trying to rebuke the gospel in the ceiling I lose count. Happens all the time. I'll forget what set I'm on sometimes, too, but that's probably the weed.
Always
It's never not gospel music. I've been in here at all times—open 24 hours. 4:30 am or 10:50 pm, doesn't matter, gospel music. Not once have I walked in all Hallelujah!! cuz something else was in the ceiling like Christian rock even, anything other than gospel but nope, not once. I'll let you know if they evolve.
When The Lord asked me to walk with him I said yeeeeessss (carry both yes's about 3 seconds) I said yeeeeessss.
(They changed the music)
I forgot what set I'm on.
For Christ sake!
That was probably four. I always do four sets of 13. And four exercises. 4-1-3-4. I'm weird about numbers. I don't kneel on calculators minus 10% annual income divided by 52 in the weekly offering or anything but weird nonetheless.
Alright, well, I'm burnin up. Need to charge my earbuds anyway, I'm outta here—blasphemy! There's plenty of juice in these earbuds. Truth is, I can't do more than an hour and 40 days and 40 nights in here regardless if the last couple minutes are spent painfully waiting for personnel at the reception desk to look the other way so I don't have to hear them compete with the speaker in the ceiling.
Have a bless-it day!