UH.... well, where do I start. So I was recommended this gym by my friends so I thought I would try it out; oh holy lord and spirit of Allah, what have I done. As I walk through the door I am first hit by a hideous smell of farts and body odour. The kind of smell you get when you take a giant dump and forget to flush the toilet and you come back after a hard days at work to the rotting smell of the giant dump you blessed your toilet with in the morning.
Once you get over the smell, you are then greeted by a wall of stairs. The first thing that went through my mind was 'good fucking job I don't train legs". So I attempt to climb this ladder to Satan's cesspit, and I get to the top and straight away I can see where that smell was coming from. There are two fat ladies (just from looking at them you can SEE the smell of their old, crusty, overused, cheesy vaginas woffting out at every movement) using the cross trainer.
After signing up, I was pointed towards the toilet, in the search of a mirror where I can admire my aesthetics in peace. It was a small toilet, the kind you see in the glory hole porn movies. I walk towards the toilet that has what looks like a years worth of rusty diarrhoea and piss of an old retired man that has been drinking too many energy drinks.
After my adventures in the toilet I began my workout with a set off barbell bench press. I loaded the bar with 50kg each side and put my headphones in, as I rested my head onto the bench there was a sensation of warm dampness that could only have been the sweat seeping through the bench. I tried to ignore this as I carried on with my set, oh such a fool I was. My head slipped to the right off the bench causing me to drop the right half of the bar straight on to my chest. The pain was like nothing I had felt before; It felt as though my right pec had been embedded into my lunge. The 50 kilo was dumped; The deep, scratchy, testosterone induced man's voice of mortal combat was the only thing I could hear at this point. "FINISH HIM" the 50 kilos on the other side of the bar dropped to the floor throwing me what felt like half way across the gym.
At this point I was blind with rage that the only words I could muster to shout at the gym owner was "YOUR MUM... PRICk" as I stormed out.
To rap up my review; will I be making an appearance here again?... I would rather drag my balls through a mile of broken glass and rusty nails on the way to have my bellend grated by a cheese grater while being fucked with a strap on by Miley Cyrus. read more
