Aggressive Morning

Just a tip-off: Anyone who is not a fan of Conan the Barbarian (yes the original, quit fucking asking) might want to spend their 5 minutes on higher pursuits, like picking their nose or huffing VCR head cleaner.  And while you’re at, kill yourself.  If you haven’t seen this movie, then clearly you’ve done nothing with your life and never will. 

I like to listen to classical music in the morning.  It is a soothing way to ease into a new day.  98.7 in Chicago is an exceptional radio station, and my man Carl Grapentine has the voice of an angel.  A goddamned siren song.  This morning I was driving to the gym prior to Carl’s morning start time of 06:00, so I was grooving along with Peter Van De Graaf.  Peter is no Carl, and I’ll fight any man, woman or child who says differently.  But Peter is cool.  I was greeted today with a most fucking awesome tune, that being a little Conan the Barbarian montage.  There are few better ways to get pumped for anything than CtheB music.  I mean, obviously smoking some crack and slamming your shoulder into a wall until the pain necessitates you go do something really sweet is probably a slightly more effective way–but we’re splitting hairs at that point.  I sat in the car and let the entire score play out before I made my move:

I went into 7-11 and bought some shoe polish.  Why shoe polish still exists at the consumer level, and why they always sell it at convenience stores and gas stations–neither of which sells shoes–is beyond me. But you know it will be right there below the duct tape and the cloth work gloves.  I take the shoe polish back to my car, where I proceed to lose the shirt and cover my face, neck and torso in black camouflage striping.  I was fresh out of rope for scaling the wall of East Bank Club, so I went through the front per usual.  I was greeted with curious stares from the front desk staff charged with checking in my member card.  Unlike every other morning when I present my card for swiping, today I round-house kicked the first guy in the head, knocking him unconscious.  I immediately grabbed the woman, managing to stifle her scream before she could complete it.  I slowly put her down with a sleeper hold.  With both sleeping off the assault, I proceeded straight to the main workout room.  Unfortunately I had no sword so I improvised as best I could.  As I entered I grabbed a narrow barbell, those for the aerobics classes that are super light for women.  From my gym bag I pulled out the jump rope.  I immediately ducked from view and took the stairwell to the upper balcony.  I slid down the heating duct with a primal scream.  The element of surprise was with me, as no one in the workout room at 5:45 a.m. was expecting a short, shirtless dude with cammo to be sliding down the heating duct.  I proceeded immediately upon hitting the floor to whipping every person near me with my jump rope followed by smashing or slashing them with the barbell.  It was complete and utter pandemonium.  I knew at this point time was not on my side.  Before the authorities could arrive, presumably armed with guns and not jump ropes and barbells, I dashed outside.  The East Bank Club, as the name would indicate, sits directly on the east bank of the river.  I dashed up and down the river walk until I found a snake.  Granted it was not a 100ft long boa constrictor who eats sacrificed virgins once a week, but it would do.  I went back inside to the main workout room.  I was able to use the weight stack on a quad machine to sever the snake’s head.  I threw the carcass into the middle of the room, then held the barbell upright very menacingly, daring anyone to challenge me.  No one moved an inch.  I left the way I came.

This is what happens when Peter Van De Graaf plays the Conan montage to start the morning.  A bit irresponsible on Peter’s part.  Regrettably I used my member card to swipe at the parking gate upon exiting, so I fear it may not take Sherlock Holmes to locate me.  But with the Riddle of Steel now solved, I can relax and enjoy my weekend.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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2 Responses to Aggressive Morning

  1. Anonymous says:

    A Fucking Plus Plus. I could hear the lamentation of the women in my head as I read.


  2. Anonymous says:

    This pleases Crom, I am sure.


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