It's Monday. I'm Moody.

Heh. Gee, that's a shock.

Dear Creepy Guy on the Elliptical Next To Me,

I'm all about not smellin' all funkadelic when you go to the gym. At the very least, I advocate runnin' a soapy washcloth over your nether bits. The only funk I want to deal with is in my ipod. That said, this isn't a singles bar, we aren't impressed by your ability to roll around in a bottle of Brut before you get here. In fact, we're repulsed by it.

See, here's the deal. When the gym is empty, as it is by the time I'm hitting the elliptical for the second time, courtesy says leave a gap of one machine between you and the person next to you. That's why I was on the crappy machine that catches in the first place. You, therefore should have skipped a machine, then got on. It probably wouldn't have mitigated your stink, but it may have let me stay on the machine for more than 4 minutes. If I had stayed on any longer, the waves of horrible "cologne" (eau de carcass if you ask me) would have literally throttled me, and at a minimum given me a migraine that I can ill afford to have.

You very nearly gagged me the other day, when you were on the leg-press machine next to me, and did about 80 whomptillion reps. You. Have. Chickenlegs. Wearing so much cologne that you render someone's vision blurry at 10 paces is not a way to compensate.

Mix in a shower, and wash that shit off.

Sincerely,

Special Sauce