Guest Post: The Hirsute Naked Man In The Gym Locker Room Discusses the Hashtag Nude Lives Matter Movement
Well, I’ve been in somewhat of a blogging drought lately, so I’m going to give sole control of today’s post to some hairy naked guy I met in the gym locker room. I made a deal with him: if he put on his damn underwear, he could write a guest post for my blog. Everyone wins: content is generated for you, the reader, and the pasty undulations in my immediate quadrant are veiled, if only for one night. So here is the first ever guest post on this blog, from The Hirsute Naked Man In The Gym Locker Room.
Hello, blog! NUDITY!!! OLD, NAKED MEN!!!!! HAIRY BACKS!!!!!! SCROTUMS SWAYING GENTLY IN THE GALE PRODUCED BY THE GLORIOUS POWER OF AN XLERATOR-BRAND HAND DRYER!!!!
I apologize. I was using the attention-grabbing tactic of beginning a manifesto with a series of edgy words. So don’t worry, it was all for show.
And now that I’ve got your attention, let’s talk about public male nudity in men over the age of 70. This is a demographic that has been pushed to the fringes of society, marginalized, insulted, and universally regarded as an outdated herd of soured, pickled meatbeasts with nothing important to say.
Well I importantly say this: public nudity serves many purposes in this crazy rat race we call life, which is sort of ironic, because if life really were a rat race, we would all be naked, like rats are all the time. You know what I’m talkin’ about, how they just crazily scramble around and pile up on top of one another, having hours and hours of naked rat fun.
When was the last time you saw a good old-fashioned fleshy pile of humanity, writhing around and whoopin’ it up, just like rats do every day? Time was, we called it Saturday Night. Now? Sheesh, I call it a win if I catch the vague outline of a man’s penis through his fancy dress pants.
Which brings us to the tale of how I landed this gig as a guest blogger. ‘Twas a Monday night. Or was it a Wednesday? Time and space bend in odd ways when you bask in the illumination of nudity, you must understand. Anyways, due to a remodeling job, the local gym has been rather empty lately. So, after patrolling the locker room for a few hours—nude, obviously—I realized I hadn’t seen anyone for a very long time, so I was about to call it a night and take my third steamy shower in the provided facilities when in walks some clothed gentleman.
Excellent, I think to myself, this room could use a fresh pair of bare buttocks. I lurked around the corner, waiting for him to derobe. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when all the guy does is change from his regular short pants into his gym shorts. And to make matters more ridiculous, he was wearing some sort of garment under his shorts that covered his genitals while he made the switch!
My world was shook—left became right, up became down, all-out bare-assed glory became heavy winter-layering.
So I strut over there, throw my foot up on the bench, and lean my elbow on my knee, a position that is the absolute last word in nude comfort, plus it gives your hammy a bonus mini-stretch, and makes the upper parts of your lower body more readily available to receive any breeze that my happen to be blowing through. And I say to the guy, I say, “What better place than here, what better time than now, is there to be nude?”
He says something not pertaining to nudity, so I press on: “Nice locker room, right. Got showers and everything. Real nice showers,” the implication here being that showers require one to be naked.
Again, his retort has absolutely nothing to do with the action of being completely devoid of clothing, and then he mentions something about a computer blog. Who is this guy? For realsies?!
So, having accurately pegged this guy as a ‘clother,’ I try to coax him out of his shell by explaining to him my method of getting dressed, even though this event is very stressful to me.
I won’t bore you with the details, but when I finally do get dressed, pants are the absolute last thing to go on. Even after the shoes. You’re probably asking yourself, ‘Doesn’t this cause him to wobble, teeter, and stumble around as he struggles to pull his pants over his shoes, grabbing on to whoever is near for support while his anus is exposed and his genitals swing free?’
The answer to that question varies. Sure, there have been times when I lost my balance and tumbled into an unsuspecting locker room patron. Whether or not any of my private parts brushed against that person is up for debate.
On the other end, there have been plenty of occurrences when I successfully pulled my pants on over my shoes, free of any incidental contact with standers-by. In the end, it all cancels out.
Anyways, all this talk of dress has gotten me off track. I, along with my fellow free-hanging septuagenarian brethren, have been hearing a lot about all sorts of lives mattering, with no mention whatsoever about nude lives. Where do we fit in to the mix, huh? Where’s all the coverage of police ruthlessly gunning down an innocent nude man? I haven’t seen any. Did you know that many businesses will flat out refuse to hire a naked applicant that fits all qualifications for an open position? How about the act of segregating us beautiful, naked, hairy nudes into a small locker room?
Hashtag nude lives matter, man.
So, where do nude, old, hairy men stand in today’s society? In America’s gym locker rooms, is where we stand, and soon we shall burst forth from these prisons, walking very slowly, carrying towels but not using them to cover anything up, and coughing every fifteen seconds.
The world will know us.
-love, the hairy naked man from the gym locker room
Today is Women’s Equality Day. Today is also National Dog Day.
My Facebook feed looks like this:
Posts about dogs=a lot.
Posts about Women’s Equality Day=0.
So, have I unwittingly become entwined in some sort of sick dog-worshipping misogynistic social circle, or is this happening in the Facebook feeds of everyone else, too?
Comment below, or not.
I’m an “ideas man.” A “problem solver.” A guy that “gets things done.”
So, instead of sitting here with my hand down my pants, adding onto the internet trash heap of Jared prison rape jokes, I’ve already hatched a scheme to cash in on the fallout Subway is facing.
Here’s my pitch: we all know that a fat pervert can get skinny on the Subway diet. This has been pounded into our heads for the last 15 years. So, Subway, why not go the other direction and hire me, a svelte gentleman who is willing to become very, very obese from eating Subway, while also being attracted to adult women? Eh? Imagine commercials featuring a big fat guy that eats his height’s worth of meatball sandwiches every day as women surround him, feeding him cookies and caressing his ever-expanding ‘Subway Bod.’
The ball’s in your court, Subway.
The left-wing liberal is sitting in a coffee shop, skimming over an article titled “The Right-Wing/Conservative/Tea Party Review of Jurassic World.”
How did it come to this? Why would someone read, on purpose, an article he knows will anger him?
The left-wing liberal is a tough creature to understand. Currently, he is on what is called a Comcast Cleanse, which means that he is boycotting the large corporation, because large corporations are evil. So, unable to access the internet in his suburban home, he grabs his iPad, hops into his Honda, which gets over 35mpg, and drives to the nearest Starbucks to use their Wi-Fi before he goes to his job at Target.
He starts by expressing his outrage over Cecil the lion on Facebook for the seventh straight day, oblivious to the fact that, as a carnivore, he himself has contributed to the slaughter of countless chickens, cows, and pigs right here in America. To be fair, though, the animals he eats are labeled ‘organic’ and don’t live in a factory, which makes killing them okay. And besides, he sometimes partakes in Meatless Mondays, so he’s basically a vegetarian.
Anyways, as he skims through the ‘Jurassic World’ article, he thinks how great it is that more and more children’s sports leagues don’t keep score and everyone gets a trophy, because that is how real life works.
“Ha! Doesn’t this guy realize that Islam and Christianity are actually very similar? I’m not sure how, exactly, but Brian said it on Family Guy one time.”
He temporarily diverts himself away from the article to visit a charitable website for pregnant inner city transgender hermaphrodite teenage kids that can’t afford to live inside of buildings. Just as he is about to click the ‘donate’ button, which would transfer five dollars from his bank account into that of the charity, he wanders up to the counter to purchase another coffee. By the time he is back at his iPad, the session has timed out, and he isn’t about to reenter all his information. He was close, though.
He decides to do something about this right-wing Jurassic World article. He copies the URL, and posts the link in his Facebook timeline with the header “Check out this paranoid conservative idiot,” an act which will somehow bring us all closer to peace and harmony.
Summertime means it’s time for fun, hot (but not global warming hot) temps, and big budget films liberally laced with anti-American values.
Jurassic World, or more appropriately Jihad World, is an audacious reminder that Muslims and liberals, now one and the same, have pulled out their spoons and dug, chipped, and caved their way into the entertainment industry in order to push upon us a film that symbolically dismantles America and her freedoms.
But wait, isn’t Jurassic World just an innocent summer thriller featuring dinosaurs and eye-dazzling special effects? The RIGHT-wing says WRONG!
It’s all about symbolism, folks. And cave-dwelling director Colin Trevorrow injects the symbolism into this film so heavily that even all the children left behind by the No Child Left Behind Act can see it.
It’s all as plain as the hair on my turban-free head.
Early in the film, we meet Muslim extremist Owen Grady, played by Chris Pratt. Grady represents the forces scheming to destroy freedom and liberty—a kind of Hitler, Bin Laden, and Hussein (both Saddam and Barack) medley.
During a velociraptor training session, Grady stops the beasts from feasting upon a small pig that runs through their cage, which is Anti-American Symbol #1: pork is withheld from the velociraptors, therefore the velociraptors represent Muslimity. Frankly, I’m surprised the filmmakers didn’t rename the velociraptors something like Islamasaurus, or Muslim Lizard King, or Death To Infidelus Rex. By now, you should be outraged. But wait, there’s more.
Anti-American Symbol #2: We are introduced to the apex predator, the badass, the hero, the king, the indestructible force of the film: the Indominus rex. The genetic makeup contains the DNA of cuttlefish, tree frogs, and a number of alpha dinosaurs. Read—this dinosaur is a veritable melting pot of genes. Wait, where has that term been used before? Oh yeah, to describe AMERICA. While in captivity, Indominus kills its sister, which obviously represents Great Britain, and eventually gains independence. So we have here the holy rolling train of unstoppable AMERICA.
But, for unspeakable reasons, Trevorrow depicts this perfect beast as an insatiable killer that preys on the weak and starts fights for fun.
As Grady searches for the escaped genius, we witness a wide shot depicting a landscape of dead apatosauri, killed for sport by Indominus. Now what does this remind you of? Remember when early patriots, drinking the delicious nectar of Manifest Destiny, meaninglessly slaughtered millions of buffalo on their journey west? Well, Jihad World mocks that.
Anti-American Symbol #3: Then we have Vic Hoskins, played by Vincent D’Onofrio. Despite D’Onofrio’s suspicious Spanish-sounding surname, do not fret, for he portrays a patriot. Hoskins plans to use the dinosaurs, most notably the sexy Indominus, as military weapons. He is, of course, vilified and eventually killed.
Anti-American Symbol #4: Visitors to Jihad World use gyrospheres, which are rolling orbs used to get up close and personal with the dinosaurs. What, you may ask, is wrong with a gyrosphere? A gyro is a Greek sandwich. Greek sandwiches do not come from AMERICA. The writers could have just as easily named the device a Cheeseburgersphere, or even put the tourists in mini Wienermobiles, but they didn’t.
Anti-American Symbol #5: The Indominus is eventually killed when the velociraptors and the Tyrannosaurus Rex push it towards the lagoon, where the Mosasaurus drags it underwater, metaphorically killing AMERICA. We have already discussed what the velociraptors represent, but where do the Tyrannosaurus and Mosasaurus fit in?
Simply put, the Tyrannosaurus represents tyranny, ISIS, homosexuality, interracial dating, taxes, un-white people, communism, immigrants, reggae music, electric cars, and any establishment that does not allow assault rifles—all things that will eventually push AMERICA to her demise. The Mosasaurus, due to its aquatic nature, is a blatant reminder that our enemies are covertly building vast underwater cities stuffed to the rafters with nukes, science books, and Kurt Vonnegut novels.
In conclusion, avoid this movie at all costs, and report anyone who sees it to Homeland Security.
(The inspiration for this review can be found in this article and its comments section, in which someone at the Tea Party News Network was under the impression that Chipotle became involved in some sort of Islamic conspiracy.)
Colorado is a weird place.
Jeopardy doesn’t start until six. Conan starts early at nine. The Subway we went to didn’t have any five-dollar footlongs. Before we left on the trip, people kept telling us to check out some English pub called The Pot And Weed, or was it the Weed In The Pot? Anyways, we Googled it, and never found the place. It must be uber-local.
And also, marijuana is legal there. I went after the beer, though. Got to taste a Fat Tire 23 minutes off the line, as well as about 75 other Colorado beers I’d never had before.
The most bizarre feature, though, were these extremely large hills, mostly made of rock, that we had to drive over to get to our lodge. Some of them are covered in snow, which is kind of a buzzkill in July. But once you stare at them for awhile, these large, inconvenient lumps start to look pretty neat. I like them now.
We toured the Stanley Hotel, where they shot Dumb and Dumber.
We did all kinds of stuff.
It was a good trip. I won’t bore you with all the awesome and exciting details.
After driving through Nebraska, you’ve had about enough. Then you find out that southeast Wyoming is the same as Nebraska.
Except that you can finally see mountains in the distance. So Wyoming had that going for it.
It is shaped like a square, just like Colorado. Or is a rectangle? All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares, or vice versa. You know what I mean. This state does not have any weird squiggly lines for borders. Just four clean right angles. Yeah, that’s the stuff.
That’s why it was so easy for me to make this map:
You can see the part of the map where none of the action is, denoted by the text ‘This is where none of the action is,’ right? That’s where we passed through.