Dear Meatheads,

Pardon me for interrupting the climax of your Creeds Greatest Hits playlist on your iPod. And even further apologies for breaking your concentration as you where "posing down" against yourself in the mirror. And please forgive me for derailing the focus you had on the equally heinous-looking female bodybuilder at which you were gawking. But if you don't mind, I'd like to share a few thoughts I have about why you make my trips to Lifestyle Family Fitness marginally intolerable.

1. Just because I stand up from a weight bench doesn't mean you can slide in behind me while I'm up getting a quick swig from the drinking fountain. And it would be nice if you'd kindly remove those three 45 lb. plates you added to the bench-press bar in the process.

2. Although I'm sure it impresses the underage sluts who crawl along the sticky floors of the club where your pledge brother checks IDs, your nausea-inducing cologne is better left on that Armani Exchange sleeveless mesh football jersey you have hanging in your closet.

3. We all notice that you are lifting waaaaay more weight than you actually look like you can. Therefore, no need to grunt, moan or hollar DMX lyrics at every rep.

4. Giving me workout tips is like giving a 70 year-old woman tips on masturbating. I know my limits, and if I start messing with my routine there's a good chance it'll end up tearing a muscle I shouldn't be using anyway.

So please, continue your obsessive support of the Under Armor, LLC stockholders and Honda Civic aftermarket performance parts suppliers, but please don't give my another reason to bail out on the one daily activity in my life that doesn't actually make me want to choke on a box of rusty nails the next morning.

With warmest regards,

The "Scrawny Pickle Smootcher" wearing high school band t-shirt