You know that I am definitely not the kind of person who indulges in exaggeration and hyperbole but it's fucking World War 3 at the gym.
And of course there is nothing worse than having to read of me droning on about what happens in the gym, so here goes...
Liam and I are having a chat and working out and we. are. being. fabulous.
So we move to one of the benches where we want to hang our towels and continue in total fabulation.
And no sooner have we picked up two weights when this man appears.
He is a total fuckwit. I am going to describe his fuckwittery to you so that you can understand just how much of a fuckwit he is.
He is about 35 and thinks he's mighty fucking cool. In fact, he thinks he's so fucking cool that he wears shiny gold-coloured fake Dolce & Gabbana shoes.
Yes. A total fucking idiot.
Anyway, so Liam's sitting on the bench with the weights and this arsehole just wanders up and, in this thick Eastern European accent goes "fuck off..."
I'm like "I beg your pardon?" And Liam's like "I beg your pardon?" And together we're like "I beg your pardon?"
He says it again, "fuck off I busy here...."
And I'm like "oh, we didn't realise because we've been here for about five minutes and..." and Liam's like "oh, we didn't realise because we've been here for about five minutes and..." and we're both like "oh, we didn't realise because we get the message...
But he says it again... "yeah, fuck off."
And I'm like, "well sorry but there was nothing here to indicate that you were sitting here..."
He cuts me off and says "well what the fuck do you want? Do I have to leave my fucking hair rollers here for you to see...?"
And we're like "wo."
Except we don't say that but instead behave like typical gays and scuttle off to Brent (gay) at the reception desk to complain.
And I'm like "what a tosser" and Liam's like "what a tosser" and Brent's like "what a tosser."
So Liam, Brent and I devise a three-point plan.
1/ Brent is going to find out what his name is.
2/ Liam and I are going to write a letter to the gym manager saying we refuse to work out in an atmosphere filled with hate-fuelled roid-rage, homophobia and racism (might as well throw that one in...)
3/ Brent is going to lobby the gym manager to get this tosser's membership revoked.
4/ Once we have found his name, I am going to use the information to find out where this wanker lives.
5/ Liam and I are going to throw rocks through his lounge window, set fire to his garden and drive an FV4034 Challenger 2 battle tank through his front door.
6/ Liam is going to search Gaydar to see if there are any homos in the army who will lend us a tank.
Fuck that. Who the fuck does he think he is? Who is he? Who. Is. He?
Oh yeah, I got this e-mail saying "why the hell can't we comment?" I was like "er... I turned them off because it sometimes feels like ..."
I'm not really sure where they went but they're make. So go on then....
Because you know how much we like visiting in/famous houses and such - for example, I told you where the X Factor house is.
In case you were interested, a famous singer lives here...
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in the middle of the bed
I'm feeling pretty damn hard done by,
I spent ages giving head."
Remember, it's totally illegal to even step a foot onto the property.
Unless of course they wear gold-coloured fake D&G shoes and are horrid and nasty to other people in the gym.
Then it's acceptable to drive a weapon of war through their front door. Obviously.