Sauna Shenanigans, ep. 3: SexDoll: Used Hard, Put Away Wet
(to the tune of: "For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn")
Last time, we were talking about [Fantastic Mr.] Silver Fox, the guy at my gym who spends each session shadow-boxing the punching bag that hangs in the middle of the room. I know we shouldn’t judge people for their gym habits, but he clearly loves the attention so I think he voids the right to receive the benefit of the doubt. It’s easy for us, in the peanut gallery, to weigh in and point out that he should quit being a pansy and hit the bag - he’s all bark, no bite.
But, after an incident I witnessed recently (which took place shortly after I last saw Marco, funnily enough… a coincidence, I’m sure), I realized we’ve gotta remember to be careful what we wish for when it comes to displays of aggression.
There’s another guy in the gym who’s an actual fighter - or at least an instructor. I came in to see him standing over a life-sized, human-shaped punching bag. To be clear, I’m not talking about one of these, which I’d seen before, and at least look a little more robust/“up for a scrap”…
But one of these:
I know, I know. That’s the only picture I can find. Still, it gets the point across: Decidedly not “Up For a Scrap.” Pathetic, submissive, breedable, Low-T, etc.
Worse, he (or she? “He” for now) wasn’t even propped up in any sort of “Put ‘em up!” Fightin’ Irish™ pose; he was splayed out, face down, on the rubber gym floor. The whipping boy’s aforementioned assailant, meanwhile, was sweaty and out of breath as he got to his feet. The dummy was, too, I guess.
In “his” defense, he was out of breath because he was an inert object, and he was [almost certainly] only sweaty because The Pummeler had rubbed off on “him” while he was opening up a can of whoop-ass on his poor, defenseless victim (or having his way with it in some other form or fashion). Who knows.
What I do know is that when you see the big, dreadlocked guy walk past you with a scowl on his face and his comatose sparring partner/sex doll, used and abused - “Rode hard, put away wet,” as they say in the horsemanship/saddle upkeep community – you do not look him in the eye, let alone start peppering him with questions. No. You shuffle past him, stare at your feet, and give his proned-out, unresponsive victim a wide berth as you go on about your gym routine - Better him than me, you think to yourself.
You assume - you hope - that he had it coming (perhaps he’d been caught hanging out on his phone and hogging the squat rack for too long, or filming himself stretching on the mats in the corner), and that this wasn’t a senseless, random act of violence. Otherwise, your conscience would eat you alive:
“First, they came for the sex dolls, and I said nothing…”
After hearing a few rumors, however, our worst fears were confirmed. We sent one of our reporters out to the local sex-doll/crash-test dummy/mannequin hospital. Grim scenes:
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