Ladies and Gentleman...Dry Your Genitals
The number-one song in the United States is called "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)." In case you haven't heard it, the words originally achieved popularity right here on the Internet, where it was attributed to author Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Trouble is, ol' Kurt didn't write it. Some Chicago newspaperwoman named Baz Luhrman did. No matter. Somebody got the bright idea to take Luhrman's words—first published in a newspaper—and set them to music.
The song is essentially a series of common-sense recommendations to the hypothetical class of '99. Aside from advising readers (listeners) to wear sunscreen, she tells people to do "one thing every day that scares you," or to sing, stretch, and respect your elders. Some of the recommendations are a little simplistic, while others have a certain wisdom to them.
I guess I could say that I kinda' like the song. Still, it occurred to me that bodybuilders have no such source of wisdom available to them. And "South Park" doesn't really count. With that in mind, I'm offering up my own gold-mining pan filled with nuggets of wisdom with you, the gym rat, in mind.
Here it is, but don't get all weepy-eyed on me:
Ladies and Gentleman...Dry Your Genitals
If I could offer only one tip for the future, drying your genitals would be it. I don't care if you have to squirt some kerosene down there and light a match, but make sure you don't walk around with a soggy diaper full of sweat after a workout. There's nothing more brutal than a raging case of jock itch. And that goes for you women, too. Unless you want to grow some Gouda cheese down there, get into a dry pair of panties as quickly as possible.
Don't spend too much time in the gym. Otherwise, you'll wake up and you'll be 60, and you'll realize that even though you still look buffed, you forgot to get laid, which is the sole reason you started lifting weights in the first place.
Dance...but don't do it front of me because I'll point at you and laugh real hard like the bully on "The Simpsons."
Respect the other muttonheads in the gym. Some of them may be bozos, but hey, at least they've got the same goals that you do (except for that one guy with the pink leg warmers that wants to be "the greatest ballerina the world has ever known").
When you read the other bodybuilding mags, wear protective goggles or else you'll go stark, raving, bat-shit crazy (think Spock when he looked at the Medusa-thing in the box).
When you get off a bench, wipe it off. What are you, a mollusk? Like I want to lie in your Lake Ticonderoga trail of mucous and sweat...why not just secrete some man-goo onto the bench and complete the whole unsavory picture?
Don't go around sounding like too much of an expert. You may swear that the suppository form of creatine offers the best absorption, but you may discover, years from now, that you just liked shoving stuff up your butt. There's a lot we don't know about the body, and I doubt if you're going to be the one to put an end to all future discussions. Be humble and be open-minded. If you argue, ad nauseum, about a certain physiological point, you're only doing it to inflate your own ego.
Live in Venice Beach once, but leave before you get a job jumping out of birthday cakes as "Ernesto, boy-toy of the new millennium." Hell, it's not half as glamorous as it sounds.
Put your weights away.
Don't let your penis call the shots. If you really want to be a great man, put it on the shelf in a cleaned-out mayonnaise jar and only pull it out when you really, really need it.
Love animals. I mean, have like a Platonic love for animals. Anything else is against the law, except maybe in Arkansas.
Buy one of those Panasonic nose hair clippers—really. Once you get over 30, you'll need it. Otherwise, when hunting season opens, men dressed in camouflage overalls will use your nostrils as a duck blind.
Don't walk to the bathroom in a public place carrying a newspaper. You're automatically telling everybody in the place that you have to take a shit, and frankly, we'd rather not have that image in our minds as we're about to dive into our Kung Pao Chicken.
Don't worry that there are plenty of guys in the gym who are bigger than you are; you're probably better than they are in dozens of things. Everybody has his or her own special gifts (except maybe Jimbo, the towel boy, who lives in a cardboard box behind the gym).
Stop wearing those tight little spandex muscle shorts. I don't care if they make your legs look really bitchin'; overall, you look dopey. It's a bad fashion statement. They let us see more of your butt crack than we care to see, and we really don't want to know if you're circumcised or not.
The same goes for those muscle shirts with the sleeves missing. What are you, the Fonz? This sport/activity has a bad enough reputation without you running around looking like a member of the all-gay cast of "Grease."
Do a steroid cycle once in your life and get it out of your system. You'll never be envious of a pro bodybuilder again because you'll realize that 90% of their success came out of a syringe.
Once in a while, take half the money you were going to spend on supplements and spend it on something radical; like making a car payment, paying your rent, or buying yourself some new underwear (remember what I said about the jock itch).
Keep your old love letters, unless they're from someone named "Bubba" down in cellblock C.
Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, but if you do, keep the little brats the hell away from me, especially when I'm working out.
Don't worry if, while you were spotting the best-looking girl in the gym as she was doing squats, you sprouted spontaneous and vigorous wood, which ended up thrusting her headfirst into the mirror. Your insurance will cover it.
But trust me about changing your underwear.
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