‘I hate your stupid anime, Hiroyuki. Anime is for freaks, Furries, cos-players, WOW players, weirdos, SCA psychos, need I go on?’
I said quietly, as we worked out at the University gym.
‘Ah no problem Joe, we give race team new name.’
I was benching, she was doing leg presses.
‘OK Hiro, stop the phony Hollywood Japanese accent. Everyone knows you’re born and raised in British Columbia. Look, my fans hate anime, they hate Japanese cartoons, they think Japanese porn is creepy and they hate sushi. Alright they love hibachi, but they definitely hate sushi.’
She took a look around the gym and she wiped her face with a towel.
‘OK wise old Botendaddy. I guess now that you’ve groped and contaminated me, I guess I have to listen to your mindless bullsh&it. Do you think the guys in here can tell that I’m your groveling love slave? Look at how young, strong and hot they are. Vidi well, my brother. You look like the angel of death, Father Time, Methuselah, the frickin crypt-keeper, but you still have a full head of hair.’
I re-racked the massive weights and I sat up.
‘Here’s the deal. I’m still plateauing a lot. I think the following:
- I’m undercounting calorie intake on certain foods. It’s better to err on the high side.
- I’m still taking on too many bad calories, I’m consuming way too much sugar, albeit about 10% of what I used to eat.
- Some of my snacks are processed food. That can’t be good, even with a low calorie count.
- Finally, I eat a lot of pickled vegetables and the like. Very high salt content, this may cause water retention and make me weigh more than I should.
- I will start eating more fresh vegetables and cooked vegetables and fewer pickled veggies.
She started doing free-weight squats. She was sweating profusely. Her body was spectacular. I was hoping one of the young guys would hit on her, but unfortunately they were all *gay* *hot*.
‘Why do you work out in scrubs Botendaddy ? Were you in another profession before the ‘incident’?’
I put my hand over her mouth. One of the gym guys winked at me, licked his lips and then rolled his eyes because I was touching the icky, icky girl.
‘ssh don’t mention the ‘incident’ no one needs to hear about that. I think if I just keep the faith, stay consistent and don’t cheat on my diet, I’ll be ok.’
I hoped that no one had overheard us.
‘OK, Botendaddy, I have a new name for the race team: ‘The Road Whore-iers’.
‘I like it Hiro, it’s sexist, racist, dirty, Mel Gibsonish, ethnocentric…,’
‘Homophobic too b1tche$!’ Shouted the smarmy gym boy, winking at me and trying to lick my muscular pectoral as he passed by, while also sneering at Hiroyuki. ‘Bitch, he should be mine.’ He whispered to her.
She took a swig of water from her bottle and sprayed water all over the heckler as he ran away shrieking.
‘Botendaddy. You’re a complete fuc&$@g moron. I don’t know why I listen to you. I could have a normal life. Now I’m part of your Whorem. I could have been somebody. I could have been a contender. You know, you’re a woman collector. You find lost women and you accumulate them. You are like a cult leader.’
She paused her rant to do leg extensions.
‘Whenever I’m around you, I feel like a rancid bag-lady, a leper, you are so pathetic that it’s warmly reaffirming of my depression. You validate my unhappiness. You let me go to a magical place where I can hate myself in peace. I am so tired of people trying to cheer me up.’
She switched to leg curls. She got that deep Kurosawa 16th century serious Japanese woman look on her face.
‘All of us could do so much better, but we don’t want to. We don’t want a man to try to make us better or make us happier or change us. We are happy being miserable, happy about hitting bottom. You represent the end of the road for shitty three-time losers, bums, dregs, fallen forlorn women, who have giving up on life, given up hope.
She started doing calf-raises.
‘You are like an escape to a shitty flophouse in some long-forgotten, tragic, neglected, rust belt town. You never challenge us, you never try to change us. We need you to be our rock, our pillar of self-deprecation, the medicine man of our lost tribe of vagabonds, you complete me. You are such a total, moronic loser that you let us feel good about ourselves.’ She said.
‘Yeah, whatever, hand me the chalk.’
Peace be the Botendaddy