Filling Up The Spank Bank

I had a shitty night at work. But at least I got to the gym today. Now don't worry, I don't go to the gym to work out. Hell no. I have an aversion to exercise like Dubya has an aversion to the truth. I go to check out the chicky-boos, buddy boy. Young, scantily clad hard bodies movin' and sweatin'.

I always have a couple of stiff drinks before I go so I looked flushed and healthy. Once there, I climb on a Life Cycle and enjoy the sights. I make sure the Life Cycle is on a low level so I don't actually have to work at it. Now in my gym, the bikes are in the back on a mezzanine. So you look down at the whole place. On the floor right in front of you are the tread mills. A favorite of the Vaginal American set. Oh the asses that I see!

On occasion, when the gym is full, some chick might have to ride the cycle next to mine. This is good. But one must be prepared for just such an event. You must have the right magazine in front of you to a) Impress the ladies and b) hide the fact you are on level "0." The right magazine of course is something like The Robb Report, Wealth, Fortune or some damned yachting/sailing magazine. Popular Science or Swank just won't cut it. And it's important to dress the part. Don't wear a bright orange hunting cap and a Fuzztones t-shirt like I used to. It'll scare the piss flaps right off them. Wear what their meat-head boy friends do. Wife beaters t-shirts are good if you have the arms for them. I don't. I just make sure I have extra layers of clothing on so it won't be too obvious I'm 100% fat.

I tell you, I'm smooth with the females. When one of these sweet smelling chiseled lovelies is pumping her heart out next to me I always say something funny like "look out for the pot holes" or "you remind me of Lance Armstrong with breasts."

When I'm done with the "aerobic" portion of my work out, I go to the locker room and have a couple of long pulls of my Gatorade bottle filled with vodka and orange juice and then hit the weights. This way I can get a close up view of some serious camel toe. I usually sit on a bench with a ridiculously heavy dumb bell as if I'm going to hoist the damned thing. I'm sure it impresses them. Of course I don't really do anything with it. I couldn't. If you removed all the considerable blubber from my frame I would look an emaciated Mother Teresa.

I think the trainers and some of the meat-heads are on to me. But they don't blame me. How could they? Plus I'm sure a lot of them are closet ass-stabbers who want me as much as the girls do.

Today's highlight was the chick on the treadmill right in front of me. Nothing especially great to look at as compared to all the other beauties. Once she was done, she went to the locker room to get dressed. I was "pumping iron" when she emerged wearing a skin tight, short white slit skirt. All of a sudden I was bench pressing my weight. And not using my arms! Let me tell you something, clothes make the woman. That and a nice pair of wheels and a couple of big fun bags!

Well, I must be off now to do my real work out.