Monday

The World According To Gym

For breakfast this morning, it was decided that I would deposit and collect my beloved at her weekly women's health class. The hours pass quickly as I make my way towards the majestic marble pillars of 'Womens Health World'. I have never flirted with male yoga, my maleness always protruded, however carefully packed, through my extra layers of cup. I enjoyed running for a few years until I banged my arthritic knee on a cement mixer and consequently dislodged any further desire to travel faster than my own comfortable car. I developed arms with impressive veins that popped in all the right places until my niece asked me if I was in fact Magilla the Gorilla. Further tension loomed when I discovered that increased upper body development could result in ones gentleman sausage losing its girth. I limit myself these days to lifting nothing heavier than a Glaswegian pub landlords heart.

I hover just inside the door that clearly states it is an exit only. The movement of my shoulders alone causes the automatic door to swoooosh and then open and close, open, then close, open... It amuses me for nearly a full moment before I tire of such a childish game and the large woman wearing a medium sized uniform gives me a look as though I have just urinated on the grey corduroy carpet. Perhaps her supervisor has been leaving cryptic notes on her locker door about peculiar stains on the hallway carpets of late. I begin to wonder about the symbolism surrounding the stigma of urine stains and Rorschach tests. I can't decide whether I am an axe murderer or a complex dentist with a smoking beagle fixation. It's hard to say by just looking at the dotted line above what appears to be a map of Croatia. Perhaps if I did urinate discreetly a few centimetres along the top it could actually be a Masonic symbol.


Through the glass viewing window I watch as a rather rotund woman balances herself on some sort of medicine ball. In each hand she has a pair of small silver weights which I estimate to weigh no more than a post-it note. The pink ones, not the insipid yellow ones that remind me of an old Rottweilers teeth. By the look of her double chins I can only assume that she is more accustomed to lifting meat pies to her face than mere silver trinkets. To her side is a paper cup full of what could only be a small gallon of fizzy pop. Diet of course. I could be mistaken, but I could swear she is giving me the eye. Swoooosh, goes the door as I retreat into the safety of the pee stained foyer. Fluuump goes the medicine ball as it throws the cockroach-like creature onto its back. My admirer is replaced by another human replica of a wheelbarrow full of blancmange as the fitness instructor barks and the large woman falters as she peaks the top of the robust medicine ball.

The medium sized uniform to my left has positioned herself adjacent to me through the other side of the automatic door. Her whiskery lips pucker and blow out an inordinate amount of breath as she struggles to persuade her wrinkled shirt back into the overburdened trousers. I am fascinated, but I dare not make a comment in case she mistakes it for romantic interest on my part. I begin to fantasise about how many doughnuts it would take to fill all three of the women immediately in my view. It takes me no more than a minute to decide that the answer to the equation is more than likely unfathomable. Instead I marvel at the way the light through the swooooshing door creates a definitive wave of rainbow colours on the exposed flesh that has begun to glisten on the lower belly of the beached cockroach slurping glucose before me. That ball has seen better days. I am certain I can detect the faint odour of female broken wind.

A new puzzle has befallen me. Trawling through my daily bathroom ritual I try to decipher what density of blade would have to have been scraped down the area between the cockroach's navel and her appendix scar. If I turn my head slightly at an angle I try to reason that it is either dirt or a very lopsided Brazilian that keeps peeking at me from over the top of some very resilient spandex. I try not to think about the probability that it could well be a masochistic vajazzle. For the sake of morality I try to return my thoughts back to the urinary map of Croatia. Swoooosh, the door to the alien craft opens and my friend the uniform steps through and begins to speak to me. It is a moment or two before I realise I have strayed into the club members viewing area only. I nod my head with a cursory final glance at Croatia and step back the few centimetres into the non members section.

It is too late however. The uniform has rearranged itself in a quivering awkwardness beside me and clearly feels that her moment of power has instigated, at the very least, a response in answer to her comment. For the life of me I cannot recall her question. Her withering gaze tells me that between her upper torso and her tattoos, it could well have been connected with penis envy. My own penis is currently struggling to hide itself away behind its two closest companions in case of attack. There are links between my sexual libido and the larger lesbian, but I am unable to categorise a section which teeters between bestiality and a Greek wrestler. I sense she is not a soulful woman. I doubt she has ever purchased a Beatles album. In her eyes I merely pulsate a disgusting bile from my groin shakra. I do what every red blooded male does when confronted with what we call in Glasgow 'the gargoyle come on'. I whistle a happy tuneless tune as I wander gingerly away. Perhaps I'll wait in the car next time.


Chefs Healthy Salad

8 ounces thin asparagus, stem ends snapped off, cut into 2-inch pieces 
1/2 pound sugar snap peas, stemmed 
8 ounces snow peas, stemmed 
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon almond oil, or olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
10 chopped scallions
12 ounces boneless, skinless chicken breasts, trimmed
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 teaspoon salt-free lemon-pepper seasoning
4 whole strawberries, for garnish

51 comments:

  1. Oh man, I've read this three times now and I'm still laughing! :¬)

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    1. I look forward to the day when one can type in glorious 3D-HD, not forgetting smellevision, thus projecting the full effect of a female gymnasium on a weekday. Until then I can only ask you to imagine the horrors forever burned into my retinas after today.

      Ladies, forgive me for revealing your secrets.

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  2. Not since Henry Africa's have I heard the "gargoyle come on" line. Priceless Chef.

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    1. Henry Africa's, now you're going back in time son. Are you actually old enough to remember the 80s?

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    2. At the age of 47 I should think so Chef.

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    3. At the age of 47 you shall soon be joining me in stiff joints and a leaky midnight tap.

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  3. Whoever corrects a scoffer gets himself abuse, and he who reproves a wicked man incurs injury. Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you; reprove a wise man, and he will love you. Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser; teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning.

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  4. Ahh pew, always popping in with a word or two from the good Lord. Tell me, isn't it crazy all these church scandals that are exposed every other day?

    I'm beginning to understand how all those Bibles ended up in hotel rooms.

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  5. Of course you are perfect 24 hours a day huh buster!?!

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    1. Nice of you to say so hen, but no...

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  6. Exercise. She's a fickle bitch. I'll stick with the healthy salad until it warms up enough to stretch one's legs in the sunshine.

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    1. Exercise is great in moderation, but then, men tend to keep in trim better than the ladies, would you no agree?

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  7. THIS! This is why i choose no to exercise in a public venue... i am in the throes of renovating my home fitness area to avoid this sort of spectacle! i have nearly perfected the art of invisibility in the fitness center at work, but shall never truly achieve Harry Potter status.

    Tonight? i have also perfected the art of potato consumption, in the form of vodka. And in such a state, you have made me giggle almost to the point of incontinence! Pass the donuts, and thank DOG for light switches in bedrooms!

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    1. I bow to your dedication doll, and I would like to say publically that your vajazzle is the most artiistic I have ever seen. It must be the glitter.

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  8. and Pew? Really? REALLY? Aren't you busy selecting a new Pope?

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    1. Pew only comes out after dark so that he doesn't have to expose himself as being a dud to the rest of the human race.

      Exposing himself is purely for the attention of the Bishop anyway.

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  9. I have to admit that a little pee came out when I read "Wheelbarrow of blacmange" That line stopped me dead in my tracks. The gargoyle come on aka in the state of the sun as the meet and greet. How about a sporting bet for the upcoming dance that our favourite eleven's are about to perform? Say if my lads win you send me a case of whisky(your choice)and if your lads are victorious I send you a case of freshly caught(Stolen) Florida lobster for your next meal.
    Knowing the past performances of the tangerines coupled with the news of Mr. Russell I better get down to the docks and rustle up some lobster.
    Cheers...

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  10. I will take that bet sir. You never know, I might just collect the lobster in person. It might be wise to prepare a room for my intended visit, not forgetting a suitable outdoors building with a roof and some dry straw for my companion, the little singing fella. I predict that the tangerines will be peeled and juiced by the mighty Celts, so prepare your nets sir, we will be along to collect what is due very shortly.

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    1. Will this pending visit be simply recreational or are you willing to do a bit of business between leisurly jaunts on the sand? I have some unfinished business with a certain 'outfit' down south and I assume a chef of your talents could come in handy. As far as your travelling companion please provide all medical papers becasue I would not want him held up at customs.
      As joking as this sounds I am adding this to my bucket list:
      A pint with Chef and Map.
      Cheers, Sausage...
      PS. Is this commenter below verbaly jabbing me or you?

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    2. Whoohoo! Fresh straw! :¬)

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    3. Stay calm wee man, you know how excitement upsets your bowels.

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  11. Perhaps your latest need for Americanisms suit your need for sarcasm instead of exorcising the demons from your speech?

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  12. Chasing the American Dream does not count as exercise Pew.

    Tone down your comments oul son, otherwise I shall continue to delete them. Banter is acceptable, insulting other commenters is not. Last warning.

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  13. Sausage, old habits die hard, bad debtors, even harder. Tell your 'mob' that you have new business partners and in our line of work we don't take too kindly to singing for our supper. The Limerick/Glasgow connection is not just paint and powder, we should be in a freak circus due to the length of our arms.

    Mr Pew has overlooked your Celtic roots, forgive him, he knoweth not what he doeth.

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    1. Mr. Pew eh! There was a time when I would have gladly tapped you on the shoulder for a meet and greet but like fine whisky I mellow with age....luckily for some.
      The large hands that now protect the bairns were once employed in the business of pain, many a neck has been rung but that was then.
      Cheers, Sausage.
      PS. Don't fuck with the chef!

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    2. Poor Pew, no making many friends in Scotland, eh?

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  14. Lopsided Brazilian?
    Masochistic Vajazzle?
    I have had far too much wine for these images.


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    1. Sea lions wearing leotards, but only more vocal, best describes the myriad of madness that met my eyes. Not since the little singing fellas 21st birthday have I seen such a wailing stramash.

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  15. Delightful!
    Thank God for a balcony where I can breathe fresh windless air and make an unseen ass of myself.

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    1. Pat, I have nothing against ladies in varying stages of life trying to stay fit, but what does gall me is the way in which some of the slob mentality generation conduct themselves in public. If only you could influence them and show them how ladies should behave.

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  16. And sadly I have WAY too much of an imagination for this selection. :) I will, however, admit envy in the form of you being tall enough to set off door sensors with your mere shoulders. I have almost walked into a door or two because my Leprechaun height did not register as fast as my little legs were carrying me.

    And yes Pew, I know envy is a sin. However casting stones isn't looked upon so highly by the good Lord either. Why not put down the rocks and just join in the conversation, rather than offering a sermon? Just asking, not egging on a fight.

    That salad sounds good Chef! We are still in the kitchen, right? ;)

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  17. Hope, there is such a thing as being too tall, too broad. Clothes have to be hand made, shoes, even simple things like gloves. I can never go anywhere under the radar, I am just too big to slink in and blend into the background. Possibly the worst thing is that because I am big and have a face like a robbers dog, people automatically assume I am a thick oul eejit.

    Pew is on his last warning with me. He has a habit of making between 20 - 30 comments per post. Obviously I delete the rambling waffle, but on occasion he spews bile and can be insulting. I'm no having that!

    As for my kitchen assistant, yes we are still a team hen, we shall hook up again soon for a few ideas for a dinner party I'm throwing. Would you be interested?

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  18. haha, Paint & Powder eh? JB & MS?

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  19. Ahh, the little singing fella himself, just back fae Faither O'Reilly's with your wee shovel and bucket is it? Put on your Sunday shirt and your church shoes, we are away out the day to a cattle auction down in Cumbria. I need you to stand next to the donkeys after I have prettied them up for sale. Just to keep the flies off you understand? I'll pay you well for your troubles, a small sack of railway coal, a shilling and any apples that the beasties do not eat. If we leave early it will be a fine breakfast to be had at Noonan's on the way, plus you can ride up front until we reach Engerland.



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  20. Whoohoo! And fresh straw?

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    1. For the love of Jaysus, spoiled rotten so you are. Tis the fresh straw I gave you only last November.

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  21. I love exchanging recipes with you. :)

    And I may be small, but sadly I know all too well about clothes not fitting properly. Even those deemed "petite" are 4 inches too long. I think the clothing industry has an odd sense of humor. ;0

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  22. Small in height, but huge in kindness hen. Being small just means that you are more precious than most.

    Speaking of recipes, what do you have up your sleeve in the way of poultry? I'm looking for something unusual to turn my hand to.

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    1. Aw thanks pal...wait.. ye was talkin' tae hope wasn't ye? :(

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    2. Ah Map, I have always looked out for you ever since I heard the girls talking about you in the backyard of Mrs Grogans orphanage. "It is like a wee hairless mouse sleeping on copper coloured silk" was one of the comments, I knew then that no one would ever give you a chance in life unless I befriended you. The rest is history. Finish up cleaning those brushes, I have you booked in to sweep four more chimbleys after lunch. Pals, eh?

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    3. Aye, to the finish. :¬)

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    4. Aye, to the finish it is.

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  23. I hate to say this but out here in the lily white burbs the soccer mom's have their shizzit together, sometimes it's damn near a Victoria's Secret parade and it reminds me that yoga pants on the right lady is damn near a religious experience and leaves little to the imagination... of course the bible tells me to love thy neighbor as i love thyself, problem is their husbands always seem to take offense to that... and my being a cunning linguist...

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    1. Do soccer momes really exist? Here was me thinking it was just more Hollywood pish.

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  24. Still laughing at the Glasgow gargoyles line, pure dead brilliant.

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  25. Never upset a gargoyle Tony, an open palmed slap fae one of their bingo wings would blind a horse.

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  26. Hi dear all! I am new here and gain the knowledge from here. Thanks for share and keep it up.
    Culinary Entrepreneur

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    1. Poor oul Humphrey, a mans name, but a female gender. I've looked skyward, yet I cannae see the xmas tree you seem to think I fell fae.

      Must try harder eh?

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  27. Anonymous2:29 am GMT+5

    Funny monologue dude

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  28. Blog seems to be very informative and interesting. Thanks for share.
    Personal Chef Service New York City

    ReplyDelete

Thank you, the chef is currently preparing an answer for you in the kitchen. Do help yourself to more bread.