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The people who talk in my gym. I don't mean a little light-hearted badinage at an acceptable conversational volume. I mean the cuntshining scumholes who fucking shout at each other in their annoying, happy-happy voices, flirting like retarded telephone sex line operators, minging on and on and on and on about how much 'personality' they need in their shitty funpub jobs, distracting me during whatever it is I'm trying to do in there with the thought of how much fucking bastardsick pleasure I would get from ripping their fucking heads off and feeding them to their pets! You fucking dickweeds! You absolute vadgebags! You twats!
Let me get one thing straight, now. In my philosophy, the gym is not a nightclub, it is not a place you go to have a social life, it is a place you go to put yourself through a variety of arduous physical procedures in order to render your body more effective in navigating the physical universe you inhabit. That is all. We run because, one day, we may need to run for our lives. When that happens - you useless funpub drone - you will not feel any compulsion to tell the wolves at your heels how hilarious it was to dress in a 70s wig and squirt shaving cream over a drunken BenShermanoid's privates. Believe me, you won't.
And don't even think about disagreeing with me, because (a) I am more intelligent than you will ever be, and therefore right by definition, and (b) I could kill you.
Basically, as so many Nu-metallers have so eloquently put it: SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCHES!
[/henryrollinsvandal] |
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