I go to the Watertown, MA YMCA at about 1:30 in the afternoon about five days a week. I am not afraid to tell you this. I’m not afraid of any of you. You can’t miss me. I wear a black baseball hat that has the coat of arms of Hungary on the front. The coat of arms is kind of scary looking. It has a double cross and a titled single cross. I am the only person in the United States who wears such a hat. Nobody in Hungary wears it. I would take a photo of it, but it’s almost 3 a.m and I’m in bed, and I’m like, fuck it. Here is what the coat of arms looks like:
The assholes at United States Customs asked me if I knew what the symbol means. They don’t know what it means. One would be hard-pressed to find a Hungarian who can tell you the meaning of this coat of arms. It’s just one of the myriad of stupid questions that the closet homosexuals at American Customs think up in order to make themselves feel important and less gay. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, but I think that one has to accept it instead of being some perverted asshole who needs to bear arms, ask you stupid, overly-personal questions, and rifle through your belongings in order to feel like a man. I bet that a large percentage of these Customs perverts lead secret gay lives. One has to have something seriously wrong with him to be a Customs pervert. I do not call them perverts because they suck cock, but because they are voyeuristic weirdoes. The last Customs pervert who interrogated me asked me what medication I take. He’s not a doctor. He’s a fucking perverted weirdo!
I use an elliptical machine at the Y. It is really boring and sucks. The specialist said I needed to use the machine 150 minutes a week in order to fix my lame knee. I dread going to the Y every day, enduring the traffic and using this boring as shit exercise machine.
I buy women’s underwear too these days. It’s bikini underwear for men, though they don’t call it that; they call it a Mini Slip / Hip Brief. My ass! I call it panties. The brand is Hugo. It’s expensive. I am grateful for my women’s underwear because it fixed my awful chafing problem, which plagued me for years. The secret to this underwear is that it keeps your dick inline. Underwear needs to be tight enough to keep your penis from moving. Regular underwear rides up your ass, and your penis finds its way through the slit. Bikini underwear doesn’t have these problems. Hugo is nice and soft too. I started with the more expensive Calvin Klien bikini underwear for men, but it was so tight that my nuts felt like they were in a vice, and that was the extra large.
I found a liquor store near the Y that sells 40 ounce Olde English 800 for only $2.45. I thought I was in heaven. This is fairly good quality cheap beer (technically malt liquor). This is a beer for serious alcoholics. One has to have something seriously wrong with him to drink any beer out of a 40 ounce bottle. I asked them to order me a case. I think they thought I was insane. I’ve decided to drink this beer every day. Fuck it, I could afford this beer. It won’t break me. It is good cheap medicine that I need to deal with a world of smashed dreams and excruciatingly monotonous journeys to the YMCA. I think it’s somehow fitting in this bizarre world of madness to swig 40 ounce bottles of malt liquor alone in bed wearing black designer panties for men.
I wish that some maniac would wait for me at the Y and put a fuckin’ bullet through my brain.
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