My conversation with Yoga, the Gym, and Running

Don’t know how much zip this one has, but I feed my fans. (That’s actually a line from a Kool Keith show I read about once where he threw fried chicken, in baggies, to the audience.)

(We enter mid-argument)

ME: But I already paid you $30. What else do I have to do?

YOGA: You know what you gotta do.

ME: (sigh) Fine. (Begins to beat the crap out of myself, Fight Club-style.)

YOGA: Don’t you miss a spot. (ominously) You know what happens when you miss a spot.

(I redouble my efforts until I am a shell of myself)

YOGA: You look good. That’s enough for today.

ME: (totally battered)

YOGA: You don’t get that shit at the gym.

(THE GYM pulls up in an Escalade, wearing a sleeveless Under Armour shirt and shades. Basically it’s The Situation.)

THE GYM: You called me? (sees me) Hey man, you want a ride?

ME: I’d love one—

YOGA: He most certainly does not.

(THE GYM and YOGA are having a staredown when RUNNING passes right through them.)

RUNNING: Hey guys!

YOGA and THE GYM: (simultaneously) FUCK OFF!

YOGA: (in consensus) Terrible for your back.

THE GYM: (same, but hurt) Why doesn’t he just use the machines?

(As this is happening, FLAG FOOTBALL, SOFTBALL, and ULTIMATE FRISBEE show up. They are all in their uniforms, and they’re wasted.

FLAG  FOOTBALL has terrible posture, SOFTBALL’s a little tubby, and ULTIMATE FRISBEE is lithe and pretty. SOFTBALL and ULTIMATE FRISBEE are both women.)

THE GYM: What’s up guys?




FLAG FOOTBALL: Check this out! (takes out a flask and puts it to his lips, but RUNNING comes by again and drinks it like a sippy cup)

RUNNING: …thanks guys what was that vod…

SOFTBALL: Asshole!

FLAG FOOTBALL: Play a real sport!

ULTIMATE FRISBEE: I dunno, I think he’s kind of hot. I like the skinny-guy type

FLAG FOOTBALL: (boiling rage)

ULTIMATE FRISBEE: Not as hot as you, babe. (she is obviously lying)

(everyone has apparently failed to notice that YOGA has been doing a headstand for some time now)

ULTIMATE FRISBEE: (quiet enough that no one notices) Or that.

ME: Hey guys.

FLAG FOOTBALL: What the fuck happened to you?

(I nod toward YOGA)


FLAG FOOTBALL: (angrily) He can’t hear you.

YOGA: I hear everything you’re saying.

THE GYM: I can do that too! (springs out of car, attempts to to headstand, does a pratfall)

SOFTBALL: That’s so funny!

THE GYM: Do you want to get a drink! And then maybe… (as cheesily as possible) a workout?

SOFTBALL: Hell yeah!

(the drive away just as RUNNING is passing back through)

RUNNING: …hey guys that wasn’t water…

FLAG FOOTBALL: FUCKER! (runs after him around a corner)

YOGA: He’s pretty hot at that guy, huh.

ULTIMATE FRISBEE (to YOGA): No, that is hot.

YOGA: (stands up in some unbelievably smooth transition) You wanna go back to my place and fuck?


ME: (shocked, trying to say something while they make sex eyes at each other) More like… ohm yeah. (shakes head at self)

(they look at me like I’m stupid)

YOGA: (to me, menacing again) I’m not done with you.

(I hail a cab and we pass RUNNING increasing his distance on FLAG FOOTBALL until FLAG FOOTBALL stops to talk to some sorority girls. I open the window to yell something at RUNNING but the cabbie tells me to close it because the air conditioner’s on.)