I love the NFL Draft, but after each one is over, it feels like five years of my life expectancy have been shaved off. Between all the work I do leading up to the draft, and stressing about getting an adequate amount of picks right, and grading each selection - particularly on Day 3, when there are usually more than 150 - I come out looking and feeling like a zombie. And what sucks is that I don't even get to eat people's brains. Not legally, anyway. God, I can't believe how much American laws suck.
Since it feels like eons since my last gym jerks entry, I feel the need to update you on some prominent people/things I've made fun of from there. I have some interesting tales to tell, and I've even included a new picture of Homeless Clown Woman that you will absolutely cherish!
The person who said that the two constants in life were death and taxes omitted a third item on the list: fat women at my gym. There always have been and always will be fat women at my gym. There's always one in the pool, rain or shine, winter or summer. They're such a constant that I've become convinced that there's a hidden cache of snacks at the bottom of the pool somewhere. My money is on Doritos.
Most of the fat women there don't bother me. They just gaze at me longingly, licking their lips, as if they imagine that I'm a giant turkey they'd like to devour for their third dinner of the evening. There is, however, one fat lady who pisses me off. She's a woman in her early 70s who dyes her hair blond and gets it permed. Despite this, she not only goes into the pool, but she also yells at anyone who splashes and gets her hair wet. She must not be aware of the Doritos; otherwise, she would dive underwater with all of the other fat ladies.
As you may have guessed, this fat woman has yelled at me on several occasions. I'll never forget one instance that occurred several years ago. I performed a flip turn when reaching the wall, and I must have splashed her, because the next time I came down, she kicked me as I was swimming by her. It hurt, too! I stopped to see what the problem was, and she shouted at me, "Vhy you splash! No splash vater! No splash vater me!" So, naturally, I made sure to splash her even harder the next time.
This fat woman is still alive - I'm shocked she hasn't suffered a heart attack yet - and I saw her recently yelling at someone else. Upon entering the pool deck one day, I overheard her shouting at the lifeguard.
Fat Woman: Vhy vater so cold!?
Lifeguard: It's not cold.
Fat Woman: Vater cold! Vhy you make so cold!?
Lifeguard: I didn't do anything.
Fat Woman: You make cold! You make vater cold! Vhy you do zis!?
Lifeguard: Again, it's not cold. It's 86 degrees, which is normal.
Fat Woman: Ahh, you idiot! You no know vater cold!
As the fat blob waddled away, I tested the water to see if she was right. She wasn't. The water was nice; it didn't even sting when I flopped in.
I didn't get what the fat woman's problem was until I thought about it. She must have been upset that some other obese lady took the last of the Doritos.
Pool Deck Bathroom:
Want another story about old Russian people yelling at the lifeguard? Well, this one involves the pool deck bathroom, which has been barricaded because it literally has crap running down its walls:
It's been closed now this entire time, but don't tell that to an old Russian couple that tried using it recently. These elderly people got out of the pool and began walking slowly toward the bathroom. Completely disregarding the signs that said the bathroom was closed, they reached for the door, which caught the lifeguard's attention.
Lifeguard: The bathroom's closed!
Old Woman: I need help my husband change cloze!
Lifeguard: Yeah, but the bathroom is closed. You can't go in there.
Old Woman: Vee always go to basroom! Basroom vhere I help my husband change cloze!
Lifeguard: I get that, but you still can't go in there. It's a mess.
Old Woman: Vee go! Vee go!
Ignoring the lifeguard and all warnings, the Russian couple ventured into the bathroom and emerged what seemed like 10 minutes later. The husband was now fully clothed, but his pants had brown spots all over them. The woman, whose clothes did as well, did not look pleased.
Old Woman: Zere poop on vall in basroom!
Lifeguard: I told you, the bathroom was closed.
Old Woman: Vhy you no tell basroom have poop on vall!?
Lifeguard: I told you not to go in there!
Old Woman: But you no say no poop!
The lifeguard tried to respond, but the old woman grabbed her husband and marched off. I'd write something like, "Lesson learned, if a sign and an employee tell you the bathroom is closed, you'll probably get fecal matter on your clothes," but these two idiots would probably make the same mistake all over again.
As you can tell, the average age of the patrons at my gym is nearing triple digits. Besides the employees, myself and some annoying kids - I'll have an entry just for them later - no one who goes to my gym is younger than 50.
I mentioned one of the old men before. I've referred to him as Singing Bard because all he does is walk circles around the kiddie pool/hot tub and sing to himself. He looks extra goofy while doing this because he's always wearing a tight blue Speedo and closing his eyes while singing. He gets really into it. In fact, there are two occasions in which I did not see/hear him singing. The first was when he was checking himself out in the locker room mirror, completely naked. Another geezer asked him if he was measuring his penis size, and Singing Bard replied, "I'm trying to see if I'm fit enough for the ladies!"
The second instance ties into that. I was sitting in the kiddie pool/hot tub one day when Singing Bard was doing his usual chanting. I have no idea what song he was muttering, but he suddenly stopped and looked at me.
"Watch this," he said.
Watch this? What was I going to watch, exactly? He literally could've done anything, and it wouldn't have surprised me. He could've chanted another song, attacked a gym member or taken off his blue wiener bikiner and shat in the pool, and I wouldn't have been surprised.
What he had planned involved the lifeguard, because he approached her...
Singing Bard: What are ya doing, taking a water test?
Singing Bard: I always get confused between the chorine levels and the PHP levels, heh heh heh! So I'll have to learn them before I take your job, heh heh heh!
Lifeguard: You can have it.
Singing Bard: How old are ya, heh heh heh?
Lifeguard: I'm 22.
Singing Bard: Where do ya go to college, heh heh heh?
Singing Bard: You just start there, heh heh heh?
Lifeguard: Nah, I've been going there for a while.
Singing Bard: And you'll be going there for much longer, heh heh heh!
Lifeguard: Wait, what?
Singing Bard: How old are you, heh heh heh?
Lifeguard: I already said 22.
Singing Bard: I'm going to swim laps now, heh heh heh!
Umm... so, I'm still confused about what Singing Bard wanted me to watch. What was he trying to do, exactly? I have no idea if he was hitting on the lifeguard, trying to take her job, or doing his best to insult her.
Come to think of it, maybe that's why he wanted to watch. In eight simple sentences, featuring 24 combined "heh heh hehs," he managed to accomplish all three items. Quite an impressive feat!
I've seen Grandpa Pimp, an old man who once tried to set me up with his granddaughter even though he had never met me before, only once since the draft. However, our encounter was an eventful one. He saw me walk into the locker room and approached me, as he usually does.
Grandpa Pimp: Excuse me, young man, I need to tell you something.
Grandpa Pimp: You are a journalist, yes?
Me: Sort of.
Grandpa Pimp: You are a journalist, so you know all journalist schools!
Me: OK, if you say so.
Grandpa Pimp: My granddaughter, she's trying to be a journalist. Not my eldest granddaughter. She's smart, so she married a wealthy, young man, and now she won't have to work formoney, but my youngest granddaughter, she's stupid. She wants to be a journalist!
OK, three things:
1. We've already had this conversation before. It was the same exact one from the previous time we saw each other, though as you'll see, it'll take a different turn.
2. Why, exactly, is his youngest granddaughter stupid compared to his eldest granddaughter? Marrying into money, especially if someone doesn't have much, is an intelligent maneuver that should be exercised more frequently, assuming, of course, that it's a possibility. That's because it solves a ton of problems, creates more opportunities, and provides security for both future offspring and retired parents. It's basically the modern-day natural selection, except that crack/meth heads and people who leech off the government are having children more than functional human beings now, so humanity is basically f***ed.
However, just because Grandpa Pimp's youngest granddaughter wants to expand her horizons and earn her own money doesn't mean she's stupid. On the contrary, it's commendable that she wants to make something out of her life.
3. What's up with this old geezer insulting members of his family to people he barely knows? This is the second time he has talked s*** about his granddaughter, and before that, he referred to the mother of his grandchildren as an "Irish whore who couldn't keep her legs closed."
Anyway, the conversation continued...
Grandpa Pimp: My granddaughter wants to go to journalism school in London!
Grandpa Pimp: Yes! She asked her daddy, and her daddy said she can go to London for journalism school!
Me: Oh, OK.
Grandpa Pimp: You know all journalism schools! Is there a good journalism school in London?
Me: I don't know, I only know of the ones here.
Grandpa Pimp: I have a homework assignment for you! When you go home, look up journalism school in London, and the next time I see you, you tell me if there are good journalism schools in London!
OK, three things:
1. Homework assignment? Why is this old man giving out homework assignments to people at the gym he barely knows? I'm not in school anymore, so go f*** yourself, old man.
2. I'm glad I haven't bumped into Grandpa Pimp recently... because I haven't done my homework assignment. And it's not like I can say my dog ate it.
3. The old man brings up a good point: Why is his granddaughter going to school for journalism in London? That's great if she wants to be a journalist, but why would she waste her money doing so in London, when there are plenty of great journalism schools here in America that would cost a lot less? It doesn't make any sense whatsoever.
Now that I think about it, Grandpa Pimp is definitely on to something. His youngest granddaughter is definitely an idiot, after all.
Homeless Clown/Grudge Woman:
And now the moment you've all been waiting for - a new picture of Homeless Clown/Grudge Woman!
If you didn't feel like clicking on the earlier link, here's a picture from the previous gym jerks entry in which Homeless Clown Woman was seen on a bike, looking like the monster from the Grudge:
Homeless Clown/Grudge Woman, of course, is known for A) lifelessly walking around the pool nearly a dozen times and B) muttering to herself that the government is spying on her, so I've vowed that the next time I see her performing these actions, I'd snap a picture of her doing so and ask her why she wanders around the pool aimlessly.
The bad news is that I haven't seen her around, so I haven't been able to ask her what she hopes to accomplish by creeping out the people at the pool. The good news is that a friend of mine spotted her walking around the pool and was able to take a picture:
How scary is that? Now, imagine if you joined this gym for the first time, hopped in to swim and then saw this abomination walking around the pool numerous times. You'd probably be scared that this thing would kill you, just like her look-alike monster from the Grudge movies.
No wonder there aren't any young people at my gym. Between the fat ladies, poop-covered bathrooms and the scary freak who parades around the pool, my gym is a pretty frightening place.