Mortification at the Gym

One of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—headed into the gym the other day for his quotidian workout. Naturally, just like the rest of the crack young staff, “Chip” likes to keep fit as a fiddle. How else would he manage to date all of the no women who enjoy the pleasure of his company?

Unfortunately, on this particular occasion, “Chip” endured one of the most mortifying workout experiences he’d ever lived through. No, his pants didn’t fall down to the accompaniment of a slide whistle, and he didn’t slip on a banana peel. Nothing so obvious as that.

Yet it was mortifying nevertheless. Sufficiently ego-withering, in fact, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we’d discuss it in today’s humble installment of our delightful musings.

As befits any fellow trying to keep in shape, “Chip” found himself on an elliptical machine. However, he was not alone: A couple of lads were grunting away on the machines adjacent to his. Bedecked in heavy-metal T-shirts, if he recalls correctly.

Anyway, whilst they sweated away their water weight, these guys were enjoying a mordantly pathetic television program: A WWE wrestling extravaganza, to be precise. Thus, even when doing his best to better himself, “Chip” was compelled to endure a minor hardship—the horrific testosterone-filled morality play that is professional wrestling. Gosh, thought “Chip”: I really hope that WWE wrestling fans are either eight-years-old or retarded.

But it gets worse, dear reader. During the course of his workout, the two characters on adjacent machines finished with their labors and left the gym. And they did so before “Chip” had the opportunity to request that they change the television program to something watched by those who don’t drag their knuckles when they walk.

As a result, “Chip” was trapped alone—trapped like a rat—on an exercise machine, watching one of the most embarrassing programs imaginable. Of course, he wasn’t alone for long.

Soon a few comely lasses took the place of the departed gentlemen on the adjacent equipment. Before “Chip” could scream “Hey, I didn’t put this stupid garbage on the set; these Neanderthals before me chose this crap. Please, please, please change it,” these two fetching gals put on their headphones and began a-runnin’.

Ugh: Now these two females—along with any passersby in the gym—were going to think that “Chip” has a real big thing for pro wrestling. Yeah, “Chip” lived to see another day, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Oh, if only the Lifetime network were on instead! Or maybe a tasteful teenage lesbian dating show?