I try to play basketball almost anywhere that I can find a court, a hoop, and nine other guys who want to run with me. Whenever I hear the distant echo of a ball bouncing on hard wood, I flock to it and try and get on for the next game. There are so many places to play all over St. George, and I adore this town for that. Churches, old gyms, backyards, pretty much anywhere that I can find, just so I can get that rush of basketball that I have L-worded for so long.
Golds Gym is certainly one of the most interesting places to go to. I say interesting because the cluster-curseword of testosteronian steroid creatures that flock around the venue flaunting their feathers are hilarious to just sit back and watch as the night goes on.
For full effect, download “Teenage Dirtbag” by Wheatus and play at full volume throughout the duration of this post.
They are the creatures of the night. Disgusting show-offs. Pathetic attempts at what someone would mistake for "men". I don’t know what keeps some of them ticking on a daily basis, but there are sure some odd ones doing some heavy lifting day in and day out.
You can pick these guys out from the second that they step through the doors. Their cocky attitude is smeared across their faces, and they immediately start loading up a bench press or a squat rack in hopes that a female of their same douchebag stereotype will find them appealing in any way shape or form.
It’s all for the girls. No question about that. Their entire workout technique and schedule is solely based on impressing some shallow fruitcake with the massive amount of reps that they do on their last set. They also use an odd grunting and groaning in many quirky ways that would almost be some type of mating call for the girls that surround them. Almost hoping that the peculiar noises will in some way attract the females, and that their weightlifting chemical smell, plus their massive good-looking physicality would be the closer in finding a mate that afternoon when they step into Gold’s.
It’s a mammoth meat market with head games and abnormal behaviors being flaunted from the moment these steroid-users walk in the door to the last rep that they do on the weights, and the pride stride they perform on their way out to their whopping sized trucks out in the parking lot. That’s another thing that has always confused me, as to why these weight-lifting creatures almost always have some type of gigantic truck decked out to its fullest waiting for them. It’s like a standard in some ways. The smaller, or shorter the meat head is, the bigger the truck he then has, that he almost dangles in front of a girls eyes in hopes that it will attract her even more than he already has.
It’s probably that way because the undersized squats are trying to compensate for some other miniscule appendage that is dangling.