It’s time to get jacked. Where you gonna do it?
It’s a question billions of Americans ask themselves each day. Unchecked mirror staring, America’s favorite past time, leads to the inevitable gym membership. Gym lovers? They’re bulking up—and haters are getting weak.
An obvious gym choice is Planet Fitness. It’s 20 bucks a month and some locations are open 24 hours a day. This seems like a sweet deal until you take one hard look at the purple and yellow equipment and realize the place is a total sham.
Planet Fitness lacks a few things, namely barbells, kettleballs, hex bars and steam rooms: the Mt. Rushmore of personal training. You’re also not allowed to drop weights on the ground at Planet Fitness, lest you set off the “lunk alarm.” It’s these stupid concoctions that give Planet Fitness its highly dubious value curve and allows for its cheesy brand to “differentiate” in the market.
Planet Fitness has a dress requirement, which includes no do-rags or baggy jeans. This is because Planet Fitness is filled with thugs and thieves. I learned this after my iPhone was stolen from my locker by some intrepid assholes who were watching my every move. They picked my lock, unfolded my pants, removed my iPhone from its left pocket, then proceeded to fold my pants back up as if nothing ever happened. I was impressed. And filled with a hatred not felt since a bigger kid from a tough neighborhood elected to not steal my hat but take it off my head, spit in it, and pop it back on my ten-year-old skull.
Planet Fitness makes no sense. On Tuesdays, the gym serves bagels and on Mondays they serve pizza. If your goal is to be fit, you cannot eat pizza or bagels—ever. You can’t even look at them. Also, Planet Fitness has free candy when you enter, either Tootsie rolls or this gooey grape crap that’s a cross between a Now and Later and a piece of gum.
It’s 2011 and America is locked in two seemingly unending wars. I would rather join the Army than join Planet Fitness.
It’s a question billions of Americans ask themselves each day. Unchecked mirror staring, America’s favorite past time, leads to the inevitable gym membership. Gym lovers? They’re bulking up—and haters are getting weak.
An obvious gym choice is Planet Fitness. It’s 20 bucks a month and some locations are open 24 hours a day. This seems like a sweet deal until you take one hard look at the purple and yellow equipment and realize the place is a total sham.
Planet Fitness has a dress requirement, which includes no do-rags or baggy jeans. This is because Planet Fitness is filled with thugs and thieves. I learned this after my iPhone was stolen from my locker by some intrepid assholes who were watching my every move. They picked my lock, unfolded my pants, removed my iPhone from its left pocket, then proceeded to fold my pants back up as if nothing ever happened. I was impressed. And filled with a hatred not felt since a bigger kid from a tough neighborhood elected to not steal my hat but take it off my head, spit in it, and pop it back on my ten-year-old skull.
Planet Fitness makes no sense. On Tuesdays, the gym serves bagels and on Mondays they serve pizza. If your goal is to be fit, you cannot eat pizza or bagels—ever. You can’t even look at them. Also, Planet Fitness has free candy when you enter, either Tootsie rolls or this gooey grape crap that’s a cross between a Now and Later and a piece of gum.
It’s 2011 and America is locked in two seemingly unending wars. I would rather join the Army than join Planet Fitness.
