Thursday hate

I've not been posting much lately while I've been in my dark, dank, moldy base-training torture cave, or alternatively chasing the sunrise across the country for a few hours of riding in only one layer...but the rage has been building up to the breaking point during my silent suffering, and will now erupt...

...all over your FACE.



Count down from 10, baby...






I've got a lot of problems with you people.

First up - the loud talkers at the gym. You guys are the male equivalent of women who sit around and talk about their periods or breast milk storage. "Yep! Just bein' a guy, here! Right Barry?!" [sniff!][adjusts crotch] "Laughin' real LOUD, talkin' 'bout WORK - how no one in my department 'cept me can do their JOBS..." [lifts up shirt to check out abs in the mirror] "...what a crazy BITCH my wife is...yep! A GUY at the GYM!" [sniff!][blows out hard so cheeks puff][sniff!] "Gimme a spot on the bench?!"

How about more lower body today, bird legs? You're more imbalanced than a hormonally-grown Tyson chicken. And save us some hot water and leave the conversation for the drive in on your bluetooth? Some of us had a real workout this morning, actually breathing too hard to talk while riding here 15 miles in the snow and could use a hot shower.

Next - hallway walkers who cut the left turn. We walk on the right in this country, like we drive, and while I know you wish to be all alone, other people do work here. So, don't come around that turn all the way over to the left, staring at your shoes, then act completely surprised when you run square into my chest. I will plant my feet and pick you like John Stockton.

People on Metra who act like Raymond Babbitt from "Rain Man" when you A) ask them to move from the reserved bike stowage seats or B) when you put your bike over theirs. "Forest Glenn. I'm getting off at Forest Glenn. Four stops. Won't make it. That's my bike. Forest Glenn." Then start beating their forehead with a clenched fist.