I went to the gym today. Got a really good workout, had the new Darkest Hour pumping through the headphones. Finished up and headed to the locker room to change clothes and head home. Seated on the bench, changing my shoes, I encountered an 87-year old man, completely nude, fresh out of the shower. Nice fella, I think his name was Walt. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was totally naked, Walt propped his leg up on the bench where I was sitting and proceeded to make friendly conversation, mostly small talk about the weather and the Cubs, with his 87-year old ballsack dangling mere inches from my direct point of view. As awkward as the sight of Walt’s time-tattered scrotum was, I tried to be friendly. I told him that the weather did indeed suck and that I was more of a Braves guy, and then made a Carl Lewis-like dash to the front door, trying to keep my breakfast down in the process. I guess what I’m getting at is that Communic’s brand of dated Ass Metal-meets-Prog is the social equivalent to having 87-year old testicles right in your face.
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