In da buildin' that we live in, there's this gym. It ain't nothin' fancy-schmancy like they got down at the center a' town. This 'ere's just a li'l room with a coupla machines in it, an' a bench an' stuff. Like I said, nothin' fancy. But it serves its purpose. Me an' the guys like ta go there, jus' keep in shape, ya know? It's important when you's in da wrasslin' bizness.
There's only one problem with this gym: it's fulla loonies. An' when I say loonies, I don't mean guys that jack off too much, or them fellas who walk up'n'down Fifth Avenue yellin' 'bout the end a' the world. I mean reall loonies; regular madhouse kinda people. I ain't got a clue why, but they all seem ta end up here, in this crummy little gym on our block.
Taday, there's only a coupla guys there when we walk in. There's Phil, who used ta play ball back in collitch, and damn near made the Rangers, or at least says he did. I like Phil. He's a stand up guy. Only problem with 'im is, ya never know when he's gonna snap. He may be talkin' to ya, all pally and whatnot, an' next thing ya know yer pinned to da wall with this chooch breathin' down yer neck. That's sorta messed up. But other than that, Phil's alright.
Da other guy in there is Norman. Norman fuckin' Stegmeyer. This guy is a regular loony, lemme tell ya! 'E's always talkin' about some jabronis on da walls an' shit, watchin' us...real whackjob shit. Him an' Wimpy are tight. Figures. They're both a pair a' fuckin' pansies. They get off on scarin' each other. Fuckin' pathetic.
Taday's no different. Soon as 'e sees us, Normie shuffles over, whisperin' in that pansy li'l voice a' his:
"S-Stevie...they're out there...they're watchin' us, Stevie..."
I hear Wimpy start ta whimper, an' roll my eyes. What a fuckin' fruit! An' then it's Goody's turn ta act like a fuckin' saint:
"Now, Norman, we've talked about this...that's just the security camera. It's designed to keep us safe."
But Normie's extra-crazy taday:
"No, not THEM! Different ones...new ones...I heard them, Gary!"
Goody takes a tone as though 'e's talkin' to a baby:
"Heard them where, Norman?"
Normie points around 'im, at the thin fuckin' air:
"Here...everywhere..."
Wait. Is this mook talkin' about da god damn radio?! For FUCK'S SAKE!
"Dat's da radio, ya fuckin' genius!"
"Andretti! Please. Let's not make Norman even more nervous."
"But he's talkin' about da radio! F'r Chrissakes! Can't ya just tell 'im dat?!"
Norm, however, is still harpin' on:
"N-no...not the radio...other voices...in other places..."
This jabroni is seriously startin' ta piss me off!
"What'cha talkin' about, ya mook?!"
Before Normie can reply, however, that lady who lives with 'im appears. He's so batshit that he 'as ta have this chick livin' with 'im just ta make sure he doesn't do nothin' crazy. She's one fine woman, though. She talks to Normie in 'er usual way, da any way anyone evah talks ta that chooch:
"Come on, Normie...it's time to go...your soup's getting cold...there's a good boy..."
He goes ta her, like da pathetic li'l doormat he is, an' she turns ta us:
"They've just started serving dinner in the cafeteria, if you want some, John."
Da cafeteria is another thing we get in our buildin'. Anyone who lives 'ere can eat there, f'r free. An' the food ain't half bad neither! There may be only one room in our apartment, but all these ritzy things kinda make up for it.
I look at her an' laugh:
"Who ya callin' John, toots?"
She smiles at me too. She's alrite, f'r a chick.
"Sorry, Andretti. But, you know, if you guys wanna eat..."
I point at the bench I'm about ta lie down in:
"I'm'a get my workout on first, if it's all da same to ya."
She nods:
"Go ahead. What about the rest of you guys?"
I hear everyone start ta answer, then Goody Two-Shoes steps in f'r all a' us:
"We'll stay here and watch him. We'll eat later. But thanks, Rosie."
She nods an' leaves with Normie, ta give 'im his baby bottle an' burp 'im and put 'im ta bed. As f'r me, I lie down in da bench an' take da dumbbells out. It's anothah hard match at Adrenaline, an' I ain't losin' again.
