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GYM MEMBERSHIP PLAN.
[AVAILABLE SINCE: 29 NOVEMBER, 2000]
I recently fell a bit delinquent in my efforts to improve my
physique. Truthfully, if I hadn't been using my membership card
to cut Robert Evans Hollywood party-sized lines of Bolivian cocaine
last Thursday, I still might not know that my gym membership expired
three months previous. Seizing this as a small but impossible
to ignore cosmic sign (while perhapsh ignoring a somewhat larger
sign - the cardiac arrest I suffered from that evening's ferocious
ingestion of cocaine and Caramello bars), I made up my mind to
renew my gym membership.
True to my word, the very next Tuesday I instructed my cleaning
lady to carry me straight to the gym, without stops for water
or fatigue. I was ready to pay the full five hundred dollars for
a "Platinum" plan - the yearly fee includes full access to all
facilities, free classes, all the towels you can sniff in your
very own private Sniffing Chamber, and the permission to remove
someone with a lesser membership plan from any piece of equipment
you wish to use. However, after a quick scan of my history of
gym activity which revealed that I had not attended one single
class and had done fewer than 2,000 crunches for the entire fiscal
year, I was informed that it might be in my best interest to choose
a less expensive plan for the upcoming year.
I acquiesced and signed over a check in the amount of eighty-three
dollars for the "Corrugated Cardboard" annual membership. Under
the terms of this membership plan, I can use any equipment not
in plain view of passers-by or female members of my gym. All in
all, the plan is actually pretty lean in its benefits. I can,
thankfully, continue to eat my mini-raviolis on the Stairmaster
whenever I want. Membership does, occasionally, have its privileges.
Even though it has only been one day since I renewed my membership,
my discipline is already improving phenomenally. In fact, as soon
as I finish writing this I am heading to the gym. I'm already
dressed in my gym outfit: black combat fatigues, Wolverine workboots,
commando sweater, shoulder holster, ski mask, and two giant canvas
sacks with a large "$" sign painted on each. (Or, as they're known
in exercise lexicon, my "heavy hands") This outfit is completely
practical for me because I like to use the treadmill but I hate
to run. So, in order to mentally overcome my disdain for this
form of exercise, I pretend I'm running from something. Today
I'll be running from the Chicago police department. Yesterday
I wore a panther skin and pretended I was running from an angry
triceratops. It's a little extra work, but I feel fantastic.
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