The Notorious 'Gym Incident(tm)'

Background Info: I was studying and working in New York (but living in Jersey), anyway the shit went down and I was forced to write this letter detailing what happened to prove my innocence. This was written circa March 2007.


I would like to say before I start that I have been going to the gym for the past five years and to the Newport gym since I arrived in the States and in that time I have never had any problems with any other patrons of any gyms that I have ever been to.

I was coming to the end of my chest work out and only had one exercise left to do, the ‘pec-dec.’ I saw that it was in use and decided to get a glass of water and do some brief stretching whilst the woman and her boyfriend finished off their set. After a few minutes when it was clear that the woman was not going to leave the machine in any hurry I asked her very politely if she had many more sets to do, unfortunately for me I had just met the most rude, obnoxious, vile and mean woman in my whole life. To the completely normal question I had asked I was told in a VERY abusive manner that ‘she would be all day and take as long as long as she wants’, keeping my cool I then asked politely, that since she was in actual fact just sitting on the machine resting and not even using it would it be okay if we worked in (i.e. use the machine whilst she was resting) again a completely normal question and one of gym etiquette. I was told in no uncertain terms and very bluntly that despite the fact that she was just sitting on and not using, the machine I could not work in with her. I pointed out that that one; it was not her gym, it was everyone’s gym and two; manners cost nothing and I had not been rude to her. Being informed that this was not her gym and that manners cost nothing must have been deeply offensive to this woman as I was told to ‘go fuck myself’ called a ‘motherfucker’, ‘a stupid bitch’ and told that I would be waiting for the machine ‘all night long motherfucker.’ At this point it occurred to me that the woman was probably mentally unstable so I told her boyfriend that he should control his lady and tell her to watch her mouth, all he could say was ‘you heard the lady.’

Things got a little bit heated and an argument ensued whilst we were waiting for the vile lady to finish her work out. Realizing that things had got completely out of hand and that all I wanted to do was finish my workout so that I could head into Manhattan for a night out I calmed down and decided to be the bigger man and apologized for my audacity in asking how long the termagant had left on the machine. The boyfriend seemed to begrudgingly accept my apology whilst his obstreperous girlfriend was muttering insults under her breath about me.
They left and I thought that I could finally work out, since she had taken so long on the machine there was another gym member who wanted to use the machine and we worked in together with no problems whatsoever. About five minutes into my workout the nasty woman comes storming in with a particularly incompetent gym instructor, she made a bee line straight for me and told the instructor to ‘tell that motherfucker not to harass me whilst I’m working out’- I told her to go away, three times. Meanwhile the instructor was attempting to explain ‘gym etiquette’ to me. If I were not involved I would have found this hilarious. I acknowledged what he had to say and assured him that the fault did not lie with me.

All the while the vicious woman was hurtling abuse my way, to which I was calmly telling her to go away. She called me a motherfucker three times, and I told her to not call me motherfucker she then replied ‘you think just cos your white boy and I’m a nigger you can hurry me up, motherfucker?’ At this point I lost my cool and called her bitch and told her to go and see a doctor to see if he could help solve her excess testosterone problem. I called her a man and a bitch I told her that she needed to shave, get her balls cut off and take a dose of estrogen and tuck her dick back between her legs. In hindsight I should not have said this but I was continually provoked indeed I had already apologized and she had come back to reignite the whole incident. At this point she became even more aggressive and took her long metal chain of keys, wrapped them around her fist and started swinging them at my head shouting like a psychopath that she was going to murder me. The bungling gym instructor did nothing to hold her back or detain her so I had to dodge her various blows. At this point her ferocious boyfriend decided to come and ‘defend his lady’s’ honor. All the while other members of the gym were watching on and disgustingly a second gym instructor who is about 6”4 and weighs at least 16 stone stood to the side allowing the boyfriend to come and try to attack me. He was grossly negligent and should have been attempting to hold the boyfriend back instead of watching on as if this were a prizefight for his entertainment.
So I am now dodging the insane woman’s keys that are being swung at my head and I have to look out of my other eye for her fast approaching boyfriend. I said numerous times someone hold the boyfriend back but no one did, so I had to run behind a machine (not my finest hour, but he was bigger than me) and seeing that no one was going to do anything and bearing in mind that just over four months I had a big operation on my nose, in addition to the metal rods in my spine, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I sidestepped the boyfriend who had lunged at me, bounded across the gym. With the boyfriend in hot pursuit, I picked up a ten pound weight and threatened to batter him if he came any nearer. For the first time in the evening Medusa and her boyfriend did something right and stayed on their side of the gym. I was called a ‘Pussy’ from Medusa’s heroic boyfriend, I reminded him that I was ‘a pussy with a weight’ and he should stay on his own side of the gym. This seemed to calm things and Newport security came and since I no longer felt threatened, I calmly put the weight back and went into the office to have a word with the security. I spoke to the security guard who apologized for the situation that I had found myself in, as I believe he had had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of woman. Then New Jersey’s finest came and after explaining the situation they asked me to leave, told me my membership had been revoked and explained that I should call customer service on the Monday to sort out my account with the gym. If I had of had the presence of mind I would have pushed for the woman and her boyfriend to be arrested for aggravated assault but since this is not a normal occurrence for me I was in a somewhat state of shock.

Whilst I could have handled things better, I was persistently provoked and was defending myself at all times. A large amount of the blame must also be levied at the workers of the gym who did nothing to calm the situation and up until I picked up the weight were quite happy to watch a bloodbath ensue. As I told the police at the time, the gym has video camera the video only needs to be played back to exonerate me.

Saturday Morning Watchmen

I got round to seeing Watchmen this weekend and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. It ticks all three boxes that I look for in a movie: 1) takes place in an alternative dystopian1980's, 2) set in New York city and 3) contains comic book superheroes.
For those not in the know the Watchmen is based on the seminal graphic novel of the same name, and was previously thought of as "unfilmable". Unlike other comic book films, Watchmen is ultra-violent, has a character who suffers from erectile dysfunction and another who is an attempted rapist. Oh yeah and then there is Doctor Manhattan a god-like superhero who enjoys walking around naked and traveling to Mars when he is upset. At three hours for those who are not fully signed-up geeks Watchmen maybe a little overbearing for you, but if you like your superheroes to be insane sociopaths you'll love it. So to put it mildly...it is different.
Knowing what Watchmen is about and what it entails, someone sent me this video of "Saturday morning Wachmen" - one YouTube users take on what Watchman might have been like if it had been made into a cartoon. It's great. Check it out in the gallery on the right.
Finally, as teenagers we've all suffered from an spot or two, hell some of us even had acne, but we should all thank God we’re not Sam Cummings from Berkshire. He woke up to find that he had an unfortunate cluster of spots on his forehead that spelt 'arse'. It’s stories like this that make you realize that there is always someone worse off then you. And they’re probably walking around with 'arse' written on the foreheads. In spots.

Different by choice - MR. LOUIS CHASE

Shut up! I have been asked to write a blog about someone who is different by choice (rather than by hideous birth defect). After deliberating about it for a bit, I chose my good friend, and the celebrated author of ‘Fun is Fun, But Right is Right’ (ISBN: 7869383), Louis Chase.

How is Louis Chase different by choice? Well allow me to recount a story that I have heard often.

At the age of 12, or possibly 13, Louis (or "Luis" as he insists people call him) was taken out to Pizza Hut for a family meal. When ordering, he demanded a large pizza[1] for himself, to which his mother (who by the way he calls 'Bob' as it is "quicker to say" than 'Mum'[2]) said that he could only have a medium pizza. Sickened by this state of affairs, Louis insisted that it was his right - indeed, his very human right - to have a large pizza.


Bob, not known for her love of human rights, declared that it was medium or nothing. Did the 12, possibly 13, year old Louis give in to this? No he did not! For him it was large or nothing! And since no large pizza was forthcoming, he sat there in Pizza Hut, hungry, enraged, but true to his principles whilst his family all enjoyed eating their delicious pizzas in front of him.

Did Louis Chase complain about this, or did he choose to ignore it, forge on, and become a bright hope for the future? Naturally he complained about it - bitterly (and still does to this day). For him, his motto of ‘Large or Nothing’[3] is as true today as ever. I have heard this story now for the past ten plus years, and when negotiating a new mobile phone deal I always heed Louis’ words of advice and refuse to settle for the useless incentives the phone companies offer. Like Louis, I demand more. As a consequence, I now have a Playstation 3 courtesy of T-Mobile.

It should be noted that Louis’ difference by choice does not stop at his talent of denying himself delicious foods; he is also known to switch on something that he loves in an instant. Louis is an Arsenal fan, but he hates Thierry Henry with a passion. Arsenal fans recently voted Henry as the club’s greatest ever player, but to Louis he's "rubbish, moody, and has no style". Consequently, he has boycotted Arsenal since Henry’s arrival. When I explained that Henry has now left the club and moved on to Barcelona, Louis still refused to end his boycott explaining that Arsenal will never again play the mesmerically beautiful football that was played under George Graham.

Also, despite being a fan of the 'Grand Theft Auto' series (indeed, they are the only video games made after 1995 that he bothers to play) he stubbornly refused to play 'Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas' for three and a half years, purely because he disagreed with the use of analogue sticks instead of the traditional directional cross on the joypad. He has only recently given in after seeing the game on sale for £9.99 in HMV, and has conceded that he is now quite enjoying 'San Andreas'.


In addition to the above, Louis likes to see himself as something of a fashion pioneer. Not for him the general consensus of name brand trainers. No, he believes in start right no name cheap black shoes. He wears them so well that he was once asked if they were Prada. "Yes, of course they are!", he responded. However, it is not his footwear that makes him a king of fashion and different by choice, but rather his innovative foray into headwear design.

Louis, no doubt with too much time on his hands, considered the burning question: what do his heroes - hard rock legend Axl Rose, professional wrestling superstar Hollywood Hulk Hogan, and much loved 12th Century political and military leader Saladin - have in common? Yes, that’s right, they're all known for their fancy headgear of some kind or another. Axl and Hogan don the ubiquitous bandanna, whist back in the day, Saladin was almost always seen sporting a turban. Realising this, Louis invented what he termed a BAN-BAN, which he derived from BANdanna and turBAN. What is this BAN-BAN I hear you ask? To quote the man himself it's “Half bandanna – half turban – totally stylish!”. Essentially it is/was Louis walking around with a T-shirt on his head.


Yes, Louis Chase left the house with a T-shirt on his head and walked amongst the public, believing that he was setting a trend! When I met him wearing his new creation (a T-shirt on his head) I pointed out that his new fashion accessory should not be called a BAN-BAN but rather a TURDANNA as it combines both the unique design of a TURban and a BANDanna and it looked like TURD.

Louis kindly allowed me to use the above photos of him wearing this instant fashion classic, but please be aware, he probably has some patents and copyrights over the use of the turndanna. So, should you too want to walk around with a T-shirt on your head, be sure to mention that the inventor is Louis Chase, and he is different by choice baby! (also, make sure you call him "Luis" - he gets really angry about that)

[1] When referring to Pizza and Louis I use the term loosely at Louis is a man who despises cheese, despite everyone knowing that melted cheese is one of the most delicious things in the whole world. This of course presents the pizza loving Louis with some problems, since the main staple of pizza is cheese. As a result, he eats a disgusting Louis concoction which is just a pizza base with tomato sauce, sweet corn, beef and chicken! UGH! He might go crazy and garnish this with something else like BBQ or Mexican chicken, but in essence his choice of pizza is disgusting. Or different if you will.

[2] At the age of about 11 Louis decided that "Mum" not only took to long to say but also made him sound like ‘wuss’. Thus, he decided to call his mum Bob (as the "b" sound comes from the tip of the lips, whereas the "m" sound is made at the back of the lips, thereby making "Bob" a nano-second faster to say) and used it so much that it caught on and now everyone in his immediate family refers to his mum as Bob. I think we can all agree that this is genius.

[3] I once met a girl who also shared the "Large or Nothing" motto. She decided to not take things any further.

How I invented the CACHUNGA MASSAGE

For those of you who don't know and thought that I have not offered anything to the rest of humanity, you wrong! I am the inventor of the CACHUNGA MASSAGE!

What is the Cachunga massage? Below is an explanation:

Cachunga Massage- Traditional Persian Massage

Cachunga introduced to the Achaemenid Empire of ancient Persia by Darius the 8th. This is a massage that primarily focuses on the breasts of females. Cachunga is a deep tissue massage used with oil. It is based on a fondling motion, and is usually performed in the direction of the heart to promote circulation.

I was clearly bored at work and so decided to post the above description onto Wikipedia, fully expecting for it to be removed swiftly. However, due to my cunning use of language (and with the help of fellow Cachunga Massage master Mr Elliot Marsh) and the plausibility factor it was left on Wikipedia! This led to other websites picking up on it and soon it was all over the internet (there are currently over 10 separate results for it on Google). It was eventually removed from Wikipedia but not because it's a clearly fake massage technique and a wind up - no sir, it was removed due to a factual inaccuracy! Apparently there was no Darius the 8th in ancient Persia, I only chose the 8th as 8 is my favourite number. I quickly re-edited the Cachunga Massage to reflect that it was actually introduced by Darius the 3rd and there it remained. Though I did get into a feud with some geek called BRYANOUR, who insisted on removing it from Wikipedia, by then it was too late as I had already conquered the internet!

Conquered? Those are big word, but yes none other than the BBC's Top Gear website name checked the Cachunga Massage in one of their articles here is the link scroll to the bottom

http://www.topgear.com/content/news/stories/2010/

And there was even a guy named Dave from Pasedena who was offering his expertise in Cachunga Massage online and who had apparently been practicing the art of Cachunga Massage for the past ten years in a celebrity health spa in London! Alas, I can no longer find the link to Dave, but remember there are only two grand masters in the art of Cachunga Massage - me, Elliot Marsh, and Benny Stow, who is in training.

It needed to be said. Why is BBCiPlayer so rubbish?

Everyone knows it - BBCiPlayer is rubbish compared to the genius of 4oD (4 On Demand). One week's worth of television - which I don't want to watch anyway - this is an insult to me, my family, and everything that I stand for. Using all of my investigative journalistic skills, I e-mailed the BBC on their feedback section. Here's how it went down:

(Note that the guy's name is Micky - bit too informal for my liking)

Why is BBC iPlayer so rubbish compared to 4OD? Why do you only have one week's worth of programmes when 4OD has almost their entire catalogue online and available at any time for free? You do not even compare. It is very sad. I wanted to watch an old episode of Dragon's Den and was unable to do so. Why is the BBC so archaic and afraid to embrace new innovative technology? I think you should be ashamed of your second rate iPlayer as Channel 4 are clearly leading the way in this field. Whilst I am complaining, your programme output is getting worse. Please could you tell me your top rated shows so that I maybe able to see where my licence fee goes to? Thank you very much. I anxiously await your reply.

Yours sincerely

And Micky's reply (with my own musings interspersed):

I was sorry to learn of your disappointment at what you feel is the lack of programme availability on BBC iPlayer compared to other "on-demand" services, such as 4oD(Pah! Not sorry enough. If you were, you'd give me some money!). Although I am not in a position to comment on the service provided by 4oD (because you're jealous of them), the difference between our services is that, although their programmes; which are funded by advertising (and are generally far superior - oh no, wait, that's right, you've got '2 Pints of Lager and a Packet of Turd'); may be available for longer, there are also programmes and films on that service that require extra payments to cover copyright issues.

Our service; on the other hand; provides programmes for no fee whatsoever as they have already been paid for by the UK TV licence fee (yeah, and that's my money!!! Well, it would be if I paid for a TV Licence) but need to be covered by the Digital Rights Management, which requires that programmes can only be hosted for a period of seven days to safeguard the rights of contributors to programmes in the event of any possible future commercial release...(blah, blah, blah...)

I can confirm that BBC iPlayer is funded by approximately 8 pence per month from your annual UK TV licence fee (what?!! 8 pence a month??? That works out at £9.60p a decade! For that much I could almost afford to buy a DVD of the show at HMV. Is this why people fought and died on the beaches of Normandy?). If you need further information about this fee and how it may be allocated throughout the BBC, you may wish to take a look at our Freedom of Information and Annual Report websites which will contain the details you need:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/foi/index.shtml http://www.bbc.co.uk/annualreport/

(no need for pornographic websites my friends - the internet was created so that we could all read the BBC's Annual Report)

Thank you once again for taking the time to contact BBC iPlayer.

Regards

Micky (Mouse)

BBC iPlayer

Well, Micky seems like a nice enough guy, so I will spare him my fury. And despite the absence of a gift of some money (which would have helped his case), his response was pretty nice. Nice, but misleading as we all know that all of the good shows (e.g. Peep Show) are available for free on 4oD. Stop lying Micky! And get a last name.

The Dariuster's first 'New York Personal Development Journal'

I was in New York, I was working and studying I was supposed to write a 'Personal Development Journal' of my initial impressions of New York. I wrote the following, those in power were not so happy:

Personal Development Journal

I flew into JFK on Sunday. Due to a delay at Heathrow thanks to a women being unable to travel I arrived later than expected. It’s really a bit inconsiderate of the public to be sick on a plane, almost die, and make me late. I wrote a suitable complaint letter to Virgin Atlantic. I expect at the very least a round trip first class ticket to anywhere in the world although I am really holding out for an all expenses trip to Richard Branson’s private Necker Island.
Unlike many of my peers I flew into JFK which was a result of having to buy my ticket at the last minute due to be being placed with Citibank, (or Citigroup or Citi or Citilight or I can’t believe it’s not Citibank-whichever you prefer) at a pretty late stage. On my delayed flight out to New York I was a little worried that I had forgotten my DS209 form which I would need to enter the United States of America. Apparently the visa in my passport was not good enough. Anyway these fears were unwarranted as surprisingly I had actually managed to make in to New York one alive and two with all relevant and valid paperwork. Oh happy day. As I queued for an age at immigration I thought to myself ‘I hope the yanks have to spend this long in immigration at Heathrow’ and then I thought ‘they like the ‘old stars and stripes a lot’ as I counted 67 flags from my walk from the airplane to the queue at immigration.
The first American I met in New York was the immigration official Ana Maria Fernandez[1] as I was whizzed quickly threw the immigration I was slightly resentful that Ana never offered me a courtesy strip search. I picked up my bags and laughed manically, I walked out the departure lounge. There was no real reason to laugh manically I just thought that it would make me look kind of evil and cool if I was in a Hollywood film. Then remembering that I wasn’t I decided to stop laughing as I thought I may have looked slightly insane.[2] A helpful lady explained to me that I needed to take the ‘airtrain’ into Jamaica and then catch the subway from there to downtown. Realising that not for the first time I had completely ignored Mountbatten’s advice and arrived without any dollar bills (y’all, holler!) I went to the airport Bureau de Change and almost wet myself laughing at the joke which was the exchange rates I was being offered. This genius in recognising a bad exchange rate would help me in my future job with Citi where I would deal with FX(foreign exchange transfers). Luckily further genius on my part in opening a Nationwide ‘flex account’ meant that I can withdraw cash from any ATM(cash point in English) and not have to pay money to access my precious swandoolies, except for the stealth tax that is added by all New York ATM’s which varies from $1 to as much as $3. I withdrew $100 and felt rich when I had a wad of ‘greenbacks’ in my hand.
I jumped on the train to Jamaica and found that New Yorkers share at least one thing in common-they don’t like people reading the newspaper over their shoulders.
Eventually I arrived at Penn Station and the grime and the bustle, was not too welcoming. I made what I would later realise to be an elementary mistake by deciding to walk with my bag to the Theo Walcott hotel.
Rising hard and proud, swollen fat at the base and piercing the sky with its long metal shaft I was very excited to see the Empire State Building. Nothing says welcome to New York more then when you see the Empire State Building illuminated at night. The Empire State Building seemed to invigorate me and put an awkward spring in my step as I made my way dragging my bags to the hotel. Due to a strange twist of fate I arrived exactly at the same time as the other interns who had caught the bus from Newark and no doubt had a much more pleasant journey.
In addition to their more enjoyable journey they had also had the opportunity to form some embryonic friendships with their fellow peers. Due to my now extreme tiredness and my not feeling in a very sociable mood, I decided that I did not want to play at being a ‘fake me’ and being nice to everyone. I dropped my bags off and went out for some food.
I reacquainted myself once again with Time Square; I had previously been in Time Square about three years previously. Except for the adverts nothing had changed. The neon lights turned night into day and I walked around re-familiarising myself. I ate some pizza, walked past a game shop, noted that they sold the Playstation 3 and went back to the hotel to sleep.
The first week was spent between orientation classes where I learnt that I should check in all corners of a lift/elevator to ensure that no one was hiding waiting to kill me. (Funnily enough this was not news to me as I had the summer before made a lucky escape from; who the Daily Mail tried to term ‘London’s Lift Loner person who kills people by hiding in the corners of the lift’.) I also learnt about the power triangle, this is Michael Billet’s guide to sartorial excellence; basically don’t wear a stripy tie with a stripy shirt. Apparently the girls were scandalously advised not to dress like whores-thus denying them any chance of a promotion. I was pleased to note that most girls chose to ignore this advice anyway.
As I was saying before I got side tracked on power triangles and lift murderers, I spent the first week between orientation classes and going out. Before I came to New York I was told that in New York A) women outnumber men ten to one and two) if you have an English accent you are guaranteed to get some.[3] With my male genitalia and English accent in check I hit the New York night clubs with a gusto, however for some reason I seemed to attract about as many women as the character Sloth™ from the Goonies™©®. It occurred to me that maybe I am not the complete babe magnet that I had thought I was, I quickly quashed this thought and came to the conclusion that all New York women are suffering from the debilitating eye condition known as glycoma. I also came into contact with the New York tradition of tipping-which goes directly against my principles of being stingy and being English. As an Englishman when it comes to tipping we work on the premise that you start on zero and work your way down-in most cases I will find that by the end of the meal or taxi journey or whatever thing it that the New Yorker is trying to fleece me on they will actually owe me money. This can often create tension when it comes to paying bills as the waiter will be waiting (no pun intended) to be paid and I will be waiting to also be paid.
The clubs and bars which I have noted have the highest concentration of females suffering from glycoma include Culture Club an 80’s themed nightclub which according to Mountbatten rumours is owned by Boy George- I could probably verify this by going on google but I am usually far too busy researching important topics such Spiderman’s alien symbiot enemy Venom-and Venom’s off shoot Carnage. I have also been to 40/40 the club/lounge bar owned by rap impresario Jay Z-him of Big Pimpin’ fame. 40/40 is filled with what New Yorkers call ‘ballers’ I at first thought that this meant basketball players but it in fact refers to what we English call big spenders. ‘Ballers’ are also known as ‘pimps, pimp daddies and hustlers.’ In context one might say ‘the M to the Izzay, Micky B, Micheal Billet is a baller, yo! He’s a pimp daddy, hustler with his power triangle. Holler!’
Anyway due to the fact that I earn $900 a month the ladies were not too impressed when I offered to buy them drinks, they asked for a bottle of crystal (at $450 a bottle almost half a month’s wages) and I gave them free tap water. I presumed since they were suffering from glycoma they wouldn’t notice, then I told them that they were actually drinking crystal champagne but since they were so drunk it just tasted like water. I went home alone. Which was actually good, because I think they would have been somewhat disappointed to find out that my New York City pied-a-terre was not in actual fact an apartment on the Upper East Side overlooking central park, but rather a room which I share with two other guys in New Jersey.
I also sometimes work for Citibank on Lexington Avenue. It is fun.

[1] Name changed to protect identity.
[2] I would later find out that laughing and talking to yourself is completely normal and accepted behaviour in New York City and so I should have not really been that bothered.
[3] Disclaimer: I have a girlfriend and would never really try it on with any other girls. Honest. I just like the thrill of the chase. It’s a bit of an ego trip really having women chasing after you, but not ugly ones.