“Bench 300, Fatty!”
Yelled the Swole Bro.
Ramon was working up to 315.
“Don’t be such a sissy-Mary with your effeminate shrieking, you’re such a pH499@t!” Shouted the Park Ranger.
For some reason, only the gay *hot* ‘members’ of the Writer’s Workshop were at the gym, plus Hiroyuki, who is like a dot dot dot total f49 h49.
“I’m not 94y! Just because I only engage in hot man on man action and I think girls are icky doesn’t make me 94¥!” Protesteth the Swole Bro.
“Listen, boys… and girl.” No one should ever… EVER put the goddamned Olympic plates on the bar with he fucking letters out. NEVER! Also use collars you stupid fucktards, tired of seeing plates slide off the bar like a goddamned Qoutube video.” I stated.
“Ooh Botendaddy! So dominant!” Said big Chief Guyasuta.
“Are you wearing anything under that faux American Indian p3n15 flap leather thingy? Which reminds me, clean the equipment off when you are done spreading anus-juice, p3n15-juice and slimy v491n4-juice all over the equipment.” I scolded.
“And re-rack your plates.” Said Ramon.
“In the correct place on the rack.” Said the Park Ranger.
“And don’t leave plates on the bars when you are done.” Said the Swole Bro.
“And don’t leave snot rags, d1ck rags and stinky cvnt rags lying around the gym. No one wants to smell nasty, infectious cvnt-juice.” Said Hiroyuki.
“Let’s go to Botendaddy’s indoor pool and drink Johnny Qualker Purple label.
“Coffee with Bailey’s?”
Peace be the Botendaddy