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I don’t enjoy exercise.  I do not enjoy the gym.  The only reason I exercise and go to the gym is because I hate my body and am sick of staring down at a podgy pale stomach and something akin to tits.  I am desperately trying to avoid the onset of middle-aged spread.

So what I really don’t need when I have just exercised for 40 minutes and am tired and puce is to go into the changing room and be confronted by sweaty blokes with their cocks hanging out like it’s perfectly normal to be naked in front of people YOU HAVE NEVER MET.

And they’re all the same.  They all have ‘pecs’ and ‘abs’.  They all admire themselves in the mirror for minutes on end and think nothing of having conversations with other naked people about things as pointless as the weather and that night’s football.  I have seen people take their clothes off at one end of the changing room and wander naked to the showers at the other end of the changing room.  That’s a good minute’s walk.  Use a towel you twat! 

When I take my clothes off in the gym it’s a military operation.  I have never been naked for more than three seconds in there.  Pants off, towel round, pants on.  Swift as you like.  I’m like a ninja.  

If you really want to stand around with your todger hanging out having meaningless discussions with other naked people of the same sex, invite them round your house.  Do it in private.  But when you’re at the gym, PLEASE JUST PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON.


About Twenty8Later

A brand new podcast mocking news, sport & entertainment in handy 28-day chunks. Good times in a terrible, terrible world.

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