A letter to my sports club

BY RODNEY BUFORD

Keep Peddling

Dear New York Sports Club,

I'm writing to discuss my grievances about the policies and practices in your health club so that you may improve upon its condition. Everyone wants to see general suggestions like less meatheads and more cameltoe in their gym and I concur. However, my suggestions go a little deeper. First and foremost, the rules of the locker room must change.

1.) I call for an immediate adoption of the "Towel Rule." It seems like every time I walk into the locker room, I'm greeted with naked old men prancing around with towels in hand. This doesn't make sense to me. If you've got a towel in your hand, why not do yourself a favor and cover up your pieces. As soon as I walk in I'm exposed to some of the world's rustiest ballbags. I'm talking about 65-year old men with 125-year old balls. Yet, it's me that gets the dirty looks. Everyone's scowling at me, like "look at this creep with all his clothes on. Who does he think he is? He's not even hanging brains!" It's as if some of these guys are at a nude fashion show. I expect to walk in one day and see Melissa Rivers interviewing these guys as they stroll into the shower: "Mortimer's wearing ballbag by Muzuno and bush by Chia Pet... it's a stunning ensemble, clearly custom made..." And it doesn't stop there. These guys smear their leather ballbags all over the benches where I like to sit. All the while they have they're towel in hand, making sure not to mix towel with balls or towel with bare ass. Nowadays, I can't even sit down in the locker room or touch anything in it. I go into the locker room like Michael Jackson in the Ebola ward at Cedar Sinai. This could be solved with one simple rule- prohibiting anyone from walking around without a towel around their waist.

Who can pump iron 

while doves are crying?

2.) When I'm not looking at sac in the locker room, I'm actually trying to work out in your facilities. I say "try" because you make it really difficult with the endless loop of elevator music that comes across the speakers. Don't get me wrong, there's a time and place for Hall and Oates B-sides but it's not the gym. I don't know who put the lineup together, but it's completely inappropriate for a weight room. Tonight I sat through a block of Mister Mister‘s "Take These Broken Wings", followed by "You Belong to the City", topped off with "Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend." It's like the soundtrack to menopause. Needless to say, this music isn't conducive to any sane activity, let alone working out. It's more like kryptonite than anything else. Everything I do feels 40 lbs. heavier, and I'm constantly thinking that I'm part of an experiment testing new ways to turn straight men gay.

3.) Speaking of which, the amount of gay heat I get in this place is enough to make Liberace blush. I'm not trying to sound insensitive towards people who lead an alternative lifestyle, but it's gotten to the point where the few straight guys that come in there feel uncomfortable throughout their workout. Don't get me wrong, getting eye-fucked by every Thom, Lance and Harry in the place is flattering, but it gets old after the first guy sniffs the bench that you just used. I'm not sure how you remedy this problem, but for starters you might ban seat-sniffing and get a security guard to camp out in the showers. I've never ventured in there, but I imagine there's a musical adaptation of "Oz" in there during the busy hours.

4.) I don't even know where to start with the staff. Those molesters that you call "personal trainers" are getting away with murder. Where on earth did they learn how to spot people? "I'm gonna grab your taint while you're doing these squats.... we don't want you pulling a prostate." Listen pal, just cause we're listening to "Purple Rain" doesn't mean you have to put your hand in someone's pants. What's more is that most of the patrons are in better shape than your trainers. You don't have to hire every Holocaust victim that walks in and fills out an application. Let's get these guys a meal and a workout. Not that I would even consider even using these pervs. You're lucky that people are stupid enough to hire someone to count their reps.

Other than the geriatric nudist colony, "Golden Girl's Greatest Hits", shower "Oz", and your staff of skinny scoutmasters, you guys have the building blocks for quite a facility. In fact, the free towel service that you offer makes everything else a wash.