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Internal monologue of every poser or jerk who has ever ventured into a
gym:

“Hey why do they have mirrors in here? I guess I’m supposed to stand 6 inches from them and flex for 14 minutes. Damn, self, you are a sexy beast. [20 minutes later] Alright, I don’t have a specific plan, so I guess I’ll just crank the tunes up in my headphones and wander around the gym haphazardly, doing random sets of 2 or 3 reps on various different machines and free weights. Hmmm dumbbells. Well, I can only curl 20 pounds but I’ll work the 40 pounders, in the interest of looking like a certified bad ass. Gotta make sure I have proper form: Convulse my torso back and forth while swinging the weight wildly like a sledge hammer. Alright …. 1…… 2. Phew! My biceps are shredded! No pain no gain, homie. What’s next? Lemme hop on the bench press over here. Gotta make sure I have good form on these, too… Bring the bar down until it’s about 13 inches from my chest, grunt loudly and bring it back up. [17 seconds later] OK I think I’ve blasted these pecs enough for one day. Hmmm should I put the weights back on the rack? There are like 40 signs plastered around the facility asking me to re-rack the weight plates…. Nah, I’ll just leave ’em on here for the gym butler to take care of. Shoot, the bench is drenched in a pool of my sweat juices. Should I wipe it up? No, it’s cool bro. I’m sure the next person would love the opportunity to marinate in my rancid perspiration. Alright, which part of this gym should I pointlessly saunter into next? I’ve already hit the two main muscle groups — arms and chest. I guess all that leaves is cardio. I could hop on the treadmill but… I don’t know. Let’s weigh the pros and cons. Con: Running requires effort. Pro: That treadmill is right next to that attractive woman on the elliptical. I’m sweaty (for some reason) and I smell like a dead raccoon, she won’t be able to resist me. [Hops on treadmill] Ok let’s strike up a conversation with this chick. What the hell? She’s barely showing any interest. Is it because she’s actually concentrating on her workout? Or does it have something to do with that wedding ring? Or am I just a viscerally unappealing human being? No, can’t be the last one. Alright, forget her. Let’s crank this baby up to ten and run for a few miles. Whoa, too fast. Down to 8. Ok still too fast. 5. I’m getting winded. Down to 3. I think that’s enough cardio for this week. I’d say this has been another successful workout. Congratulations, me. Now I can justify calling myself a “fitness freak” on my Match.com profile. Anyway, time for dinner. I think there’s a McDonalds nearby…”

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