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TreSwank -> TreSwank vs. Pig-Thang (Tragedy in the Gym) (11/26/2006 7:31:27 AM)
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For the last three months, Yours Truly has sacrificed countless hours of his precious youth to the worthy cause of building of what I've dubbed, THE PRISON PHYSIQUE. While most individuals caught up in the unfortunate vicissitudes of our penal sytem take to weight-lifting for practical reasons, like rape-avoidance, I've gone the path of iron-pumping glory for a more superficial cause; namely, to sex up every hot-lookin' broad on the beach this coming summer.
No masculine achievement short of fatherhood can equal the adulation of a young man, elated over a spankin' new bench press max, after hours of Spartan effort and ubermensch intensity. You're probably asking yourself, this very second, "Could anything ruin this fine experience of testosterone-fueled kick-assery? Is there any such Siren to sabotage this pure, unfettered, primal energy?" Well folks.....................................I'm afraid so.
Pig-Thang started frequenting my gym about three weeks ago, with her jackass goombah of a boyfriend. Judging by his slicked-back hair, loud, obnoxious voice (rife with wop-isms like "How ya doin'?", and indecipherable grunts), and thoroughly ape-like carriage, it didn't take much common sense to realize that he was probably a Guido-American within five generations of stepping off the boat from "Little Italy". No other fellow in his right senses would date an uncomely, cackling bitch like Pig-Thang, who basically amounted to a five-foot six amorphous blob of name-brand, no-imitation UGLY. Although I couldn't pull off a decent sketch of Pig-Thang's unique physiognomy, here's a picture that I found while perusing through Yahoo Images, to act as a fairly accurate representation of Pig-Thang's appearance.
Picture 1
The first time that Pig Thang graced my employee gym with her voluminous, imposing presence, decked out in black sweatpants that looked as if they'd been spray-painted onto her barnyard ass, she'd completed a mere THREE LEG CURLS before complaining to the goombah of a boyfriend, "I feel so hungry now that I've worked out, Jimmy. Why don't we grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria?" Keep in mind that Pig-Thang looked as if she'd just retired from a ten-year stint on the production-line in the Hostess Snack Cake factory, and now the simple act of MOVING had induced an uncontrollable, ravenous craving for cholesterol-rife junk food . If she would have had a thyroid problem, or a genetic predisposition to be large regardless of her diet, I would have understood - but she just gave me fuel to feed the old rage gauge.
If they had taken it into their heads to leave right then, I would have been somewhat assauged by the welcome absence; but goddammit to hell, they sat on and flirted like two large animals, caught in the fiery grips of a pre-copulatory mating dance. They didn't work out, mind you..........they just sat their ample tushes down on weight equipment seats and took up space, exciting my easily triggered gag reflex with their god-awful cooing and awkwards paeans of love.
And now, that has become the everyday gym ritual. They come right the fuck in, do three reps of any given, half-ass exercise, and then settle into the obnoxious aforementioned routine. Why should I care? I care because I'm there with a purpose and an iron resolve, and they take up valuable space that DEDICATED people........people who don't make up excuses like "Work tires me out too much to exercise. I just can't find the time."
I hate Pig-Thang.
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