I've mentioned this before, but I do my best thinking while in the hot tub at my gym. Being in warm water in general sparks my neural processes. I'm not sure why, but I always seem to think of new things I hadn't considered before while bathing in the hot tub or standing in the shower for a while. I swear, if I ever spent an entire day in the hot tub, I could almost certainly figure out how to fix our economy and solve world hunger. Of course, I'd probably die of a heart attack for being in there for so long, but it might be worth it.
This comes with a caveat, though. I can't have anyone talking to me while in warm water. This isn't a problem in the shower - unless some creeper sneaks into my home with the sole purpose of having a discussion with me while I have shampoo in my hair - but it definitely has become a problem at the gym.
The issue is that everyone has begun talking to me. I joined LA Fitness about a year ago, and it was peaceful to just work out and not be distracted at all. Slowly but surely, however, people have remarked that they're impressed by my swimming skills - they must have never seen a fat man move so quickly - so this naturally leads to small talk about what we do for a living, and then when they learn that I run a football Web site for a living, they ask me football questions every time I see them.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like having conversations with people, but thinking in the hot tub is important to me, as I like to be in there to figure things out with my NFL Picks. I can't go through my thought process when someone is talking my head off, unfortunately.
I consider Saturdays extremely important for thinking, as it's my last chance to go through every NFL pick mentally for my Saturday Notes and Final Thoughts, and sometimes I catch something I may have missed. Thus, I've never skipped a Saturday at the gym in the fall. I need my hot tub time, damn it.
A recent Saturday proved to be a struggle, however, as it was very taxing mentally. In fact, I'll call it Brain-Dead Saturday. Be warned, though. Once you get through this, you might be just as brain-dead as I was that particular day.
I completed my mile on this particular Saturday, so I got out of the pool and walked over to the hot tub. A column blocks the view of the hot tub from the pool, so I didn't know who was in there. My heart sank when I saw the sole individual occupying it. It happened to be Diarrhea of Mouth Guy, whom I wrote about in early October.
I let out an audible "ugh," and I actually didn't care if he heard me. He didn't, unfortunately. Instead, he beamed as he saw me approach the hot tub.
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: Hey, finally, someone to talk to, I was bored in here, almost as bored as I am at work, ha! How's it going, buddy, how's it going, pal?
Me: I'm fine, how...
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: Doing great, doing great, actually not doing so hot, actually, not doing so hot, you want to know why?
Me: OK, su...
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: Not doing so hot because the liberals are ruining this country. Trump's not doing so well in the polls. Are you voting for Trump? Who you voting for?
Me: Yeah, I own a small business, so I kind of ha...
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: Good man, good man, gotta Trump it up! Gotta Trump it up! Gotta Trump it up! Want to know why I'm voting for Trump, huh?
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: There's a conspiracy. Crazy conspiracy. And it needs to be stopped. We need the liberals to stop killing our celebrities. If Hillary is in office, more of our celebrities will die.
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: Remember Michael Jackson? Remember him? The liberals killed him. Remember Paul Walker? Remember him? The liberals killed him, too. Remember Robin Williams? Remember him? Also killed by the liberals! The liberals are going to kill all of our celebrities!!!
What the hell was this guy talking about? Why would a political party kill Michael Jackson, Paul Walker and Robin Williams? I mean, sure, political parties have been responsible for innocent deaths, but why would they slaughter celebrities? Before I could determine where this guy was coming from, he continued on a tangent.
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: You know what else the liberals are doing? You know what else? They're diagnosing people with cancer! Did you hear about this!? Everyone's getting cancer now because of the liberals!
Me: Umm... huh?
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: They're doing it so people get chemotherapy! It's all a conspiracy! Most people who get diagnosed with cancer don't even have it!
Me: You think...
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy: One of my buddies, his wife was diagnosed with cancer. She never smoked, or nothing. How could she get cancer? How? So she went to Canada for a second opinion, and they told her that all she had was foot fungus! That's it!
I didn't even know what to say to that. I'm all for government conspiracy theories, as I think most politicians are evil scumbags who will do anything to get elected, but I don't see why they would kill celebrities or order doctors to diagnose women with cancer when all they really have is foot fungus.
Diarrhea of Mouth Guy looked like he had other stupid things to say, but his eyes shifted toward this couple that was about to enter the hot tub. They were two Mexicans, which absolutely seemed to terrify Diarrhea of Mouth Guy. He sprung up and sprinted out of the hot tub. Good riddance.
I wish I could say the married Mexican couple was more pleasant, and I guess they were, but only by default. The woman, a fat monstrosity who almost had to be rolled into the hot tub, kept saying something in Spanish to her husband, and his answer was the same every single time:
It didn't sound like he was paying attention to her, and I don't blame him. However, her constant babbling, even in a language I barely understand, proved to be distracting, and I couldn't do any critical thinking.
It didn't seem like these two were going anywhere anytime soon, but because this was a crucial Saturday, I decided to wait it out. And then, my plans changed when I saw who would be joining us:
Oh, no. This 80-year-old woman had two conversations with me in the hot tub prior to this day. The first one wasn't so horrible, but when I saw her next, she came on to me. You can read about it by clicking the link, but she wanted me to have dinner with her, and then she grabbed my arm as she was telling me a story.
I panicked. I tried to leave the hot tub. She looked at me, smiled, and began talking...
Skeletor: Where are you going? I just got here.
Me: I have to go to work.
Skeletor: Are you in the restaurant business?
Me: No, I run a Web site.
Skeletor: Speaking of Web sites, did you know there's something called a Gmail? I heard of e-mail, but now there's this Gmail running around, and I just can't keep up!
Me: Gmail is a type of e-mail...
Skeletor: Want to hear a great story?
Me: I... I have to go...
Skeletor: One quick story, and I'll let you go. Now, I'm from Denmark, which is all the way in Europe, but you already knew that. I was in Cape May one afternoon and I went into this store, and there was this charming fellow looking at a trinket, and we started talking. He said he's from out of the country, and I ask where he's from. He says Denmark. And then he asks me what city, and I tell him the city, and he says he's from the city I'm from. Then, we start talking neighborhoods, and we're from the same neighborhood. And then we start talking streets, and we're from the same street. Then he says he used to play baseball on the playground, and there were two girls, one with brown hair, and one with blond hair and blue eyes, and then I says, "I'm the blond girl with blue eyes!" And then we hugged and kissed each other!
Hmm... OK... I have a few questions because I fear there might be a few holes in her story...
1. I've never met a man who looks at trinkets. Not one. However, I'm willing to let this slide because Danish men might just be different. If you're a Danish person reading this, I'd like your feedback: Do Danish men like to look at trinkets, or not?
2. This woman is about 80, give or take five years. Let's call her 75 to be conservative. That means she was playing baseball in Denmark in the late 1940s, early 1950s. Did they really have baseball in Denmark in 1950? I just googled "Denmark baseball," and a Wikipedia entry came up discussing the Danish national baseball team - which has been around since 2014!
Unless Skeletor got confused and was playing baseball with some kids in Denmark two years ago, I kind of doubt the validity of her story. She might as well have said that she played the PS4 with her friends when she was a kid. I actually think that would've been more believable.
3. I find it odd that these two "hugged and kissed." I mean, sure, it's a crazy coincidence if this story is true, but I did some thinking about what would happen if I bumped into a girl I used to hang out with a child. I referenced this girl Allison Cunningham I used to have a crush on between the ages of 6-10, and it only stopped because she moved away. She was hot as hell, believe me! But what would happen if she approached me as I was looking at a trinket at a store?
Allison: Hey, nice trinket you have there. What are you, Danish?
Me: No. I'm American, and I'm from Philadelphia, and I went to Joseph J. Greenberg Elementary School beginning at the age of 6, which was in the year 1988.
Allison: Oh, wow! I went to Greenberg, too! I moved when I was in fifth grade, breaking the hearts of every single guy in that class - especially this one guy who had a mullet and then a mushroom cut, and he kept creepily staring at me.
Me: That's me! That creepy guy is me!
Allison: Oh. I gotta go. Have fun with your trinkets.
See what I mean? There's no hugging and especially kissing involved. There's no way any of this would warrant anything close to a kiss!
As I was pondering this - note that I was thinking about Skeletor's story rather than my NFL picks - I felt something cold and scaly on my body. I quickly realized what it was - it was Skeletor's leg!
I must have looked like Diarrhea of Mouth Guy upon seeing the Mexicans. I sprung up as quickly as possible and sprinted toward the locker room. As I was scurrying away, I heard Skeletor shout, "Wait, I have another story to tell you!"
"To hell with your stories, horny old lady!" I wanted to shout. But I was already in the locker room by that point.
As you can tell, this was a failed trip at the gym. I didn't get to think about my NFL picks whatsoever. Instead, I was fed conspiracy-theory stories and sexually harassed by an 80-year-old woman. And yet, this wasn't even the worst thing to happen to me that day, because my fiancee had me watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show with her - and by the time that abomination came to an end, I was completely brain-dead.
I'll get to that next week. In the meantime, I'm going to hop into the shower. I've washed myself off countless times since that day, but nothing has worked because I still feel Skeletor's leg on my skin.