Dear guy on the tread mill next to me,
Please wash your funky butt. I don’t mean to be rude, but when you approached the tread mill, on minute number 27 of my cardio routine, you nearly caused me to pass out and drown in my own vomit. There are several issues at the core of my plea, and I will attempt to address each of them here.
First, stepping onto the cardio machine directly next to a dude is a clear violation of man rules, unless EVERY other machine is taken. This violation will cost you five man points. Any further violations of the man rules in this manner will result in a back-flip kick to the neck. Don’t think I can’t do it just because I’m fat. Consider yourself warned.
Second, and perhaps most importantly, we live in an industrialized nation where soap and wash cloths are available at nearly every store. Moreover, you have your choice of brands and scents, including various types of Manpoo, body wash, and good ole soapy goodness. While I can’t guarantee you won’t be docked man points for showing up at the gym smelling like mango mellon, I can certainly guarantee that you will be karate chopped in the neck the next time you invade my aura with your odoriferous iminations of funk.
Finally, I would like to address the sources of the funk that so heinously offended my olfactory perceptions. I would recommend diversifying your diet to extend beyond onions. I expect you eat nothing but onions since your armpits smell like dirty dish water covering onion casserole. I would also recommend a strong….very strong….deodorant and antiperspirants to at least mask the onion smell if by some chance your are involved in some strange religious onion cult and can’t diversify your diet. Finally, a stick of Big Red is required to mask that hot, funky coffee breath.
By the way, it is impolite to breath through your mouth in the direction of another dude when you haven’t brushed your fangs. Again, save yourself from the wrath of the karate chop, pal.
Consider yourself warned,