Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Don't Let Me Kill A Homo At the Gym

Lord help me, but I am about to go ape shit on a homosexual.

Let me tell you a little story about a Fagatron on whom I am about to go Optimus Prime. There is this midget queer at my gym that I have seen on several occasions. I have seen him on those several occasions because he basically is at the point of stalking David.

Now, I do not mind when a gay pays some attention to my man. David is hot, and if you are ever so blessed as to see him naked, you will also worship at the Berube Booty Shrine. So I don’t begrudge a homo now and again takin’ a peek at David’s goodies. As a matter of fact, if the guy is hot enough and polite enough and asked nicely, I would probably give him permission to play with ye hot booty…as long as I get to watch.

But, now and again, comes along a motherfucker that loses their goddamn mind. And today was NOT the day to get stupid around me.

This little bizatch, who has a remarkably beautiful body, is obviously used to being able to claim what he wants, when he wants, regardless of who is around or their relationship situation. I had chalked it up to bad manners that he would do shit like hop on a machine directly next to David. And, though I wanted to beat him with a free weight today when he decided to position himself right behind David to do some ab exercises, all the while dipping and ducking his head in the mirror in order to catch David’s eye, I restrained myself.

But when this poop butt bitch motherfucker spins around and literally looks at me and then makes it a point to stare up in David’s ass as he climbed into the shower, the little Caucasian meat sack crossed the line from ill-mannered flirt to disrespectful fucknut.

I am pretty mild mannered. I occasionally get angry, but you really have to do something stupid to make my body vibrate. Today, if someone had walked past me with a seismograph that little needle would have ripped a hole in the paper.

I was seething in the shower. I got out, walked to the locker, and the little jacktard anal drip is standing in the mirror preening. David walks up, Little Doggie Style swings his eyes back to David’s ass, and I had a minor explosion. In good Minnesota passive aggressive manner, I announced loudly, to the entire locker room, that I was tired of disrespectful faggots that see a man, know he is with someone else, and decide to act like a motherfuckin blue nosed baboon, turn their ass bright red, and start dripping man menses on the floor. While little dude is fit, I could step on the little trick and grind his ass into the ground if I must. And, if he steps out of line again, I must.

Addressing my jealousy in a situation where there is innocent and respectful flirtation happening is one thing. But when you cross the line into the Land of Blatant and Intentional Disrespect, I got a passport stamp that says Whoop His Ass on it.

Try me and see if I’m playing.


  1. Roses are red
    Violets are blue
    Step to my man again
    And I will bury you.

    How's that for some poetry.

  2. Girl...I'm so with you on that! There was this one time when Rodrigo was a TA for a Chicano Studies class and this hoodrat little girl was trying to flirt at him and all that in front of my sister! I mean seriously! Have some damn respect! I totally would have gone ape shit.

  3. Girl, you don't know. I think people must have a perception of me as a push over...OR they have so much self-confidence that they just don't give a shit. Let me tell you, I will break this little punk bitch if I need to. I am from the Northside.


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