Hacker's And Harmony's Joint Session With Zarin

Hacker and Harmony were a few minutes early for today’s meeting with Zarin, so were waiting on the leather two-seater just outside the doctor's office. This was Harmony’s first visit; she and Hacker had agreed to Zarin’s recommendation that she join her boyfriend for a no-holds-barred session. Hacker was not looking forward to the experience—"another Titanic in the making" he called it—and was even more morose than usual.

"This feels like season three of The Sopranos," Hacker lamented.

"Right," Harmony shot back. "We're doing this together, because you've been agonizing over whacking everyone who owed you a license renewal fee your idiot nephew ultimately collected at gunpoint, and I'm the enabler, coz I spent two weeks shopping and drinking champagne in Paris on blood money. You need your head examined, Mr. capo di tutti. Oh, yeah, I forgot…"

Luckily, Zarin's door opened before Hacker could return serve. "C'mon in," Zarin twirped. He was standing in the doorway with one arm swinging back and forth like a crossing guard. "Let's get this party started, why don't we?" Harmony gave Zarin a disapproving look as the couple entered the office.

"Well, first let me offer you a hearty welcome, Harmony," Zarin began. "It's so nice to finally meet the poor soul who keeps this guy from jumping off a bridge—and I don't mean a proverbial one." Zarin laughed at his own lame attempts at shrink humor while pointing at his patient, slumped down on the couch and wanting to disappear.

Harmony was not amused. "Dr. Zarin, with all due respect, I agreed to cancel my afternoon book to come here, and I would hope you'd be—how should I put this?—an actual professional. At the outset let me just say that I honestly don't think that pumping my boy full of pills just so he's more apt to play along with your psycho nonsense has been much help to either of us. And by the way, my sister's beau, Panko, didn't exactly come out on the other end of your journey together smelling like roses." Then to Hacker, "Sit up straight, honey. You're here to figure a way out of the mess you're in. Remember, my oozing feet are killing me, and I'm hungrier than a grizzly in March."

Hacker hoisted himself up, and anxiously paced the room with his head down. He pulled out his iPhone to download the latest batch of emails. As they poured in he noticed that they were all flagged URGENT by the senders. It felt like the world was closing in on him again, and it was only Tuesday. He broke out in a cold sweat, and stared out the window, thinking, "I wonder if this floor is high enough."

Harmony's hostility was not something Zarin was prepared for, given that Hacker had never even mentioned it before. It was definitely something worth exploring, but Zarin knew that confronting it directly would be reckless, so instead he'd have to rely on characteristic finesse. "Hacker, my friend, why don't you rejoin us and tell me what's troubling you today? How do you feel about what your lovely girlfriend, Harmony, just said?"

"Ok, doc, let's see. First, on the one hand I feel like my numbness is going to waste, because I can still hear the blood rushing through my brain. On the other, however, I've noticed that my fantasy life has really skyrocketed nicely. I've graduated from the mundane dullness of midday threesomes with anonymous party girls in the mall parking lot to the thrill of high-jumping in the Special Olympics. The drugs you prescribed are nothing less than medical marvels. Can't thank you enough."

Zarin stared at the wall clock, silently cajoling the minute hand forward towards that magical 10. Then gesturing with his arms to bring the couple together on the couch, he tried to diffuse the ticking time-bomb situation confronting him. "Now while I am a bit disappointed with Hacker's response to the meds—keep in mind, after all, that this is a trial-and-error process, so we'll keep plugging away until we're able to bottle the perfect brew for Hacker—on the basis of his confession alone I must say that I do believe it's working…good." No way could Zarin admit that he'd just borrowed a lyric from Pink Floyd's classic, Comfortably Numb. "How apropos," he thought.

"That's it?! That's all you have to offer a man in a near-constant state of panic?" Harmony was already making mental notes for her next Disharmony column.

Zarin glanced at the clock again, and noticed that it was mercifully 50 minutes past the hour. "Sorry, time's up for today, folks, but before you go I wanted to ask Harmony about my hairstyle. In your professional opinion do the chicks still dig the tight buzz cut I'm sportin?"

Maxxy Hosts Black River Sanction On The Q

Maxxy was deep into the Saturday night groove and feelin the love. The carwash business was cash money these days, so his main after-hours indulgences of getting high on pink wine and stalking loose, big-breasted twin sistaz weren't exactly burdening his soul. He was still storming the night waves at WXQR—or "the Q" as the station was known on the street. Maxxy's loyal following continued to mushroom and evolve, but recent, controversial call-in sessions had landed the Q in hot water with the FTC. As Maxxy's mamma suggested, perhaps this was not an unexpected development, considering that his average listener was majorly stoned, out on bail and intent on letting her uncensored shit fly over the airwaves. ("Dem hos need to get to church," were Mamma's choice words.)

It had been awhile since Maxxy had Black River Sanction in the guest chairs, so he was stoked they were on tonight's schedule. Their last visit had generated such a flurry of calls that the station was forced to hire an entire team of temps to handle the anticipated blitz for this round. Maxxy was eager to break the news to his wired peeps. "Hey, kids, we got BRS—Black River Sanction, chile—pimpin on the Q t'nite, Jack. Feel me? Yeah, they'z not the true jazz, word, but sho nuff it's the jazz 'tude they bringin. Sweet Melissa. Let's Q up a little Trane, chill, and hustle back in five."

A knock on the window announced BRS's late arrival. They were fried, as usual, and already creating a ruckus outside in the hallway. Maxxy laid his headphones on the desk, slid over backrest-first on two wheels and opened the door. Cleo stood tall in the entranceway, grinning ear to ear—his whites capped and shiny. "Hey fool, what's the good word, you bitch-ass trick?" he lobbed at his old friend in the chair.

"Sheeeiiiit, linebacker, bring me some love," Maxxy shot back with outstretched arms. "Me, I'm fired up. You and yours on Q, for real. We gone tear it up, my brutha." Then to the others, "Have a seat'chall, and put on the headgear."

After the predictable pushing and shoving died down, the band filed in and took their seats. Only Cleo and Andromeda were smiling. Maxxy leaned into the mic as he signaled to the engineer in the next room to tee up the mood lighting. Maxxy was still fixated on creating the 70s throwback atmosphere in his studio, neon posters and lava lamps included. "As promised, bee killaz, BRS shoulder to shoulder, front and center, butta on top. Code…555-9125 will put you in the queue on Q." Maxxy nodded to Cleo, "Cleo, you blow a sweet horn. How did your love of music help you in the red zone when you was a Pro Bowler?"

Cleo was a seasoned veteran of locker room banter, and this was no different. "Most folks think that playin sax got nothin to do with crackin heads in the NFL. Well, they wrong. We knew Peyton would improvise at the line, surely, but he never counted on me and Ray Ray switching things up on D. For me it was all jazz, and Ray Ray just followed my lead. Now this cat we used to back, Howard Lawrence, that muthafucka would call a QB sneak on third-and-20 just to force my ACL back under the knife on Monday. I will hurt him."

Maxxy was taken aback. "Wait, I thought BRS and Howard were tight now. Had the suits sort things out. That ain't the case?"

Skeezer took this one. "Well, Maxxy, in 2011 dude released a CD we busted our asses on, but he lawyered up first and left us out in the cold. Turns out our own lawyer was a cokehead. He kicked last Christmas, so we've actually been underrepresented, misrepresented or not represented all along. Meanwhile, after months of rehearsals we laid down rough cuts for dozens of new tracks under Howard's direction. I mean, we brought the pain, baby. Now, dude says he's already got the music for his new album. How? From where? How the fu…oh, sorry, how the hell should I know? All I do know is that BRS gets the shaft once again—still unpaid. If you got ideas about us getting a real manager lemme know. Dealing with this guy is a total joke. I'm taking archery lessons."

"Damn!" Maxxy was starting to get nervous himself. He was expecting an upbeat visit, but this band was really on the outs. He looked over at Andromeda, who was no longer smiling, and Tatanya, who was flossing her teeth. "Hey ladies, what's the fuss? We need a fine woman's spin on this story."

Tatanya spat out whatever the floss had dislodged. "One time I go on bad date with two Chechnyan rebels. They take me to cheap Hungarian restaurant, and think that I 'how you say, give it up' just like that. I say to the one with tooth, 'You want booty, you teach me Chechnyan death grip first.' He did, I test out, other rebel run away like schoolgirl. Soon I use move on Howard."

Pepper's Pet Peeves

Pepper seemed particularly distracted this morning, so Megabyte's grunting grew consistently louder as their workout session progressed. The poor guy craved her undivided attention, and you could see he was a hurt'n puppy dog. "Hey babe, what's eat'n ya? You haven't hit me with any of your trademark tirades today. I'm pushing especially hard here. Anything I can do for my fave?" Megabyte pleaded, probing for any opening he could find.

Pepper dropped to the floor, and started stretching. "Sorry, MB. It's not you. New client comin in today, and this one's gonna be a sick challenge. Not that you're not, dude. It's just that you I can handle. The new guy I'm not so confident about. By the way, that grunting of yours sucks royally. You sound like you're trying to pinch off an entire loaf. Keep it real. You know my rules."

"Don't I!" cheered Megabyte. "Pepper's Pet Peeves; that's what I call em.

·         If you have tuberculosis and/or cholera we do not want to see you here—ever;

·         You do not own that machine—grab your BlackBerry and Starbucks latte and move on;

·         No shootin the shit with old friends between sets—that's what Facebook is for;

·         Shut the fuck up in the cardio room;

·         Leave your noxious perfume on the dresser—that goes for you women too;

·         No floor crunches next to the dumbbell rack, lard ass;

·         Lots more.

What a list! Well, you'll be happy to know that I not only learned these gems by heart but I followed your lead, and cooked up some of my own for the kids on the school wrestling team. I haven't come up with a catchy name yet, so for now I'm just tryin to put em in alphabetical order (I may need help with that). But when I do, watch out!" In his excitement, Megabyte lost his balance, and rammed head-first into a stack of 45-pound plates on the nearby leg press. He gingerly got to his feet, staggering. "Don't worry anybody," he called out to the shocked onlookers. "I feel a couldn't thing."

Megabyte waved off a concerned Pepper and made his way to the men's locker room. Meanwhile, in waltzed Pepper's new client, drenched in sweat. She was caught off guard, and quickly became the victim of an unsolicited bear hug. Pepper struggled to break free. "That's disgusting," she protested, bathed in her father's sweat. "You do realize I have to work in this piss now. And…I told you only two hours ago that I was going to take you through a full workout when you came in. Why are you already soaking wet? You've got stank Chinese takeout coming out your pores too, you know."

Celsius chuckled. "Yeah, ate last night's leftovers for breakfast. It's much better when it comes out of the fridge—when the rice is nice and crunchy. Remix likes it that way too. After I took him for his morning necessary, I strapped on these leg weights and ran straight over—2.5 miles—and then hopped on the treadmill. I just did 90 minutes at the steepest incline, so I'm ready. Here, feel this muscle." Celsius put his slippery right leg in Pepper's hand, and flexed his calf.

"C'mon, Dad. Eee-nough. I told you I was willing to give you some formal training only if you behaved yourself. Is that even possible?" Pepper was already regretting her decision.

Celsius continued, undeterred. "I've been losing weight again lately due to my new revolutionary diet. I only eat foods that begin with the letters 'C' or 'X'. So far, I've lost 15.3 pounds."

"You look the same to me," responded Pepper, unimpressed.

"Well now I weigh myself differently. I lie flat on my back, rest the heels of my shoes on the scale, and apply constant pressure for 50 seconds. Then I do one sit-up and read the result. The diet is definitely working," insisted Celsius. "Let's get to it, so I can run home and let Remix out."

Pepper knew that it was time to return to the planet earth. "Ok, Dad, since I'm sure you're used to ignoring accepted protocol at the gym, let's review my list of definite do-not's when you're working with me. Violate these, and you're back on your own…I don't care how much I love you, got it?"

Celsius nodded. "Ok, shoot. No wait, first lemme show you how strong I am." Before Pepper had a chance to stop him, Celsius had picked up two 10-pound dumbbells, and was now dangling by his feet from a nearby pull-up bar. One…two…three…," he counted off as he waved his arms back and forth. "Wanna see me go for 20s?"

"I'm done here. Call me when you get home," Pepper answered as she left for the women's locker room.

After Hours With Hacker And Harmony

It was Thursday night around 9PM. Harmony had just collapsed on the couch after another grueling day at the salon. The fact that on Thursday she didn't even take her first client until noon made no difference. 9 o'clock was 9 o'clock. She was always down for the count after Thursday's close. It didn't help that she had two more grueling workdays to look forward to before starting her two-day weekly blowout on Sunday.

Meanwhile, Hacker was stuck at his office until 8:30 that evening, so didn't make it home until even after Harmony. He was in terrible shape, and smelled like it. He desperately needed a shower, but was too fried. He slumped on the couch next to Harmony and broke the news.

Harmony couldn't believe her ears. "Whaddya mean you're canceling our vacation?! Without even consulting me? You do realize that I'm on my feet all day, every day, listening to people bitch and moan about their crazy family bullshit, don't you, mister? This is not acceptable at all. Rub my feet." Harmony had sworn off a second drink only minutes ago, but was now considering going straight to a third. Her hands were noticeably unsteady. 

Hacker tried to calm her down, so started in on the left foot oozing in his lap. "Sorry, honey, but I did warn you about this possibility when we planned the trip. You know it's an election year, and you also know this business is still in the 'just-don't-stick-it-in-too-far' phase of kissing clients' ass. Jack at Consolidated Overleveraged Bankshares called me today with a request that I update the program to accommodate five new, ridiculous, tax-driven what-if scenarios. It's gonna take me straight through to July 4 to get this shit done, and even that depends on how fast Bartlett-Romer can update cBlast for me." 

"You're joking right? You told me that Consolidated Whatever wasn't even a client yet. They're just demoing the product. So basically you're saying that you'd rather have sex with your demo friend Jack than me until July, right? Really? Did I tell you that your major bitch-monster mother was in my chair again today, dude? And that she also strong-armed me into fixing her schizo producer's hair right after—for free!? You better get your priorities straight, Carlito." She'd been calling him "Carlito" since recently seeing Pacino again in Carlito's Way. The resemblance was uncanny, she insisted, save for Hacker's eye-specs. Harmony withdrew her left foot, and replaced it with her right. 

Hacker rubbed this one a little harder. "Look, I promise you that we'll do whatever you want next month. Just let me get through this project first. We need to sign Consolidated, and these enhancements could get the deal done. Nobody else's product out there could ever handle shit like this, and the bank seems hell bent on giving their own competitors a beat-down. I'm tired of this creepy neighborhood, and so are you. We gotta move upmarket soon, and let's not forget that your car's barely on two wheels now. We need a serious cheddar infusion to do anything. Gimme a break, girl. I'm losing it here!!" 

As usual, the foot massage and vodka chaser ushered Harmony away to la la land. She was ready to change the subject. "Alright, you're right. Calm down. Did you take your pills? I am so hungry right now. We going out…I hope?" 

"I did take them, I always take them, I hate taking them, I wanna stop taking them, I can't stop taking them. Zarin's not helping. My mom and dad aren't helping. Lobotomy's not helping—what a punk. Panko's definitely not helping. You're supposed to be helping. I hate those dumb fucks downtown. They can't get a damn thing done, and I chose the stupidest lame-ass thing to get myself into after leaving Evans & Morley. For what? I'm like a workaday hostage now where the kidnappers keep the ransom note locked away and encrypted. Going on no sleep again this week is messing me up. Let's go out. I need a hit and some fresh air." Hacker dropped Harmony's foot, and tried to stand up, but couldn't build enough momentum. "No way. We're calling for delivery. I'm too burned out to drive, and you'll get us both arrested or killed or both. What's your flavor?" 

Harmony's head bobbed and her nose whistled. She was already sound asleep on her side of the couch.

Cherry Pop...Like Totally!

Dear Miss Disharmony:

I've been meaning to write you like totally forever. My mom would kill me. She basically has tried to keep me off Facebook. How embarrassing!!!!!!!! o=( Like it doesn't even matter that my friends are all on constantly. Hellllooo!! It's not like she can't stop posting pictures of herself with ~words to live by~. Double yuck!!

Okay so like my older brother he owns a fancy restaurant and he wears tinted shades in his own house. Really?? Ur not even letting the sun in mister. My dad can't eat at his restaurant anymore because the food there is weird. I like it though. His other chef Picante is like totally hot. My friends are so jealous of me. I get to hang out in the kitchen there when it's not busy. Sometimes the girl who makes the desserts asks my opinion. I gave her one of my best dolls. I'm older now so don't need as many until it gets dark outside when a full moon is out.

There's this boy in school who smells worse than my other brother. I M totally in shock. I texted Katie about him. She's usually the first person I tell stuff to. I saw her dad eating like an entire chicken. He uses a hole bottle of buffalo sauce. Gross!

Last semester I got straight A's again. I usually do. But this semester my teacher got sick so I have a substitute teacher. I don't normally say this but I hate her guts! She said that I have been warned that I might only get a B in her class. So why is that? Like I never even saw her before she became my sub. She said that she heard from others that I will not do homework during TV time. My mom lets me watch certain shows that include singers so I can vote in. I have to concentrate because who knows if I M discovering a new Britney or Katy?

Me and my friends have a contest to see who can stay up and not sleep the most. The winner gets to pick the next movie we go to on Saturday. I wont admit it to them but I had to cheat. I tried to stay up but my mom made me clean up my room the other day and I was so tired. Like a lot more than when we play soccer. Or FUTBOL like my coach calls it. He's part Spanish. Don't you think that is lame-o?! The word I mean.

The police officers came to my school and told us about drugs and smoking cigarettes. None of my friends do this but there is one boy in my class who smokes. He got caught during gym class. The principle at my school sent him home but his dad just makes him wash his car when he gets in trouble.

My mom's friend talks funny but she came here from an island. She's nice and laughs a lot. Her boy though is not my friend. Broadband. He's little and he ruins my baking. I made him cry once so my mom made me spend my allowance on candy for him. I have some new ideas about how to get even. Google is where I look up stuff to do to him.

Is it hotter now where you are? It is here. That means school is almost out for the summer! I can't wait to see my friends at camp. I'm almost a junior counselor there now. I do not get paid. My dad says that if the pay is good then it's a good job. He has a fake smile. Also he still sometimes calls me baby names in front of my friend Katie. I made her promise not to tell our other friends but her sister has like the most gigantic mouth.

Next I have to finish my Moby Dick book report. My substitute teacher told us to write at least 500 words. That's easy. The way I started it is this. "Moby Dick is a book about a whale named Moby Dick. The captain of the ship is coming after him for revenge because Moby Dick ate his leg which is now wood. The captain wears an eye patch so it's hard to find Moby Dick sometimes although the whale is large. He comes out of the water and is not happy or smiling."

I promise that I will write to you again when it rains in the summer. It takes me a long time to write a long email so I hope it's not too long.

Please don't tell Mom:)

Cherry Pop...a fan

Dear Cherry Pop:

You go girl! I totally agree with you. Please Friend me on Facebook when you get a chance.

I got your back,

Disharmony

Black River Sanction Hits The Panic Button

Black River Sanction had been working on new material at a feverish pace for the last several months. Calling the band "burned out" presently wouldn't adequately describe its collective state of mind. Crispy was more like it. They'd been holed up in Skeezer's studio with only the occasional break since starting work on the follow-up to The Enemy Inside, the breakout album they'd scorched without getting proper credit due to legal wrangling with the album's writer, producer and vocalist, Howard Lawrence, over royalties from distribution. If there's one thing the bandmates learned from their experience on the first album it was this: never turn your back on Howard. The man simply cannot be trusted.

Skeezer and Crash were patiently waiting for the rest of BRS to join them at Bruiser's, a local sports bar where they were frequently found unwinding after marathon recording sessions. Bruiser's popularity had spiked during the last year. This was thought to be attributable primarily to the addition of two new signature offerings: a hot-n-spicy appetizer platter called "I F***in Dare Ya" believed to be responsible for an epidemic of female pattern baldness in the area; and a now famous "Bucket-o-Greasy Thangs" that had been known to trigger cardiac arrest in even healthy patrons. The guys were working on some guac and chips prepared tableside when Echo showed up, looking even more frazzled than the last time they saw him.

"What gives, axman?" Skeezer inquired of BRS's dapper guitar hero. "You look like hell."

Echo squinted, leaned over the bar and spat a dark, vile, viscous liquid into a partially filled beer mug. "Just ran into Howard down the street at the hardware store. You're not gonna believe this shit, but he's making changes to the track lineup on the new album again. Says he had some crazy-ass visions in his sleep over the weekend—yeah, like that dude ever sleeps—and can't live with the current song set. I'm two steps from burnin his house down. Tired of this shit, and so is my old lady. She's threat'nin me with papers again. She even got a t-shirt made that says 'Ain't spread'n em for Echo no more. Take a number.' That's cold, man, Coors Light blue mountain cold."

Crash looked up with a mouthful of half-eaten food, and offered his mate some friendly advice. "I saw a couple on Dr. Phil yesterday that were this close to throwing punches. They were in each others' faces, trying to outdo one another with insults I deemed worthy enough to add to my own library. Seems she'd hoodwinked him into believing they were going on Ellen, but ended up on Phil's couch instead. Anyway, Dr. Phil got right in that bitch's space and warned her that men today were getting a lot smarter and spending their paychecks on thrills and needless crap—before their women could get their claws on the cash. If I were you I'd tell Belle that she can walk, but there ain't nothin left in the kitty. Just be sure to load up on those fine hats of yours first."

Echo stared at the drummer in disbelief, turned to Skeezer and quipped, "You're tellin me this genius got a master's degree? In school? Man, I always thought that rattlin was comin from inside his snare, but now I'm damn sure convinced it's comin from inside that flat head a his."

Although Skeezer was poised to intercede before this roundtable of wounded knights got medieval, Andromeda popped into Bruiser's looking like she'd witnessed a 52-car pileup. "I just bumped into Howard at the used bookstore around the corner where he kindly shared with me his latest gem. It's complete bollocks. As soon as the others show we'll need to devise a game plan for dealing with the poor chap. Apparently he's asked Worm to add bloody backwards tape loops to the intro and outro sections of each track on the album."

"Backwards tape loops? Is that clown on acid?" asked a panicked Echo. "Who the hell does he think we are, the fuckin Beatles?!"

Pemphigus Hits The Gym?

Pemphigus was stuck in a mile-long traffic jam, and cursing randomly at other drivers. He was running late for another after-work rendezvous with Zarin at Morton's. All he could think about was that first gulp—anything to put the kibosh on this day from hell. He needed to vent, and although he knew his good friend would be in no mood to continue hearing about someone else's problems, tough shit.

Zarin was already three-quarters of the way through his first drink when Pemphigus stumbled in, sweat dripping from his ears. "What took you so long?" Zarin asked, only half interested in the doctor's forthcoming excuses. "You missed Morty's first course, something you never do."

Pemphigus laughed nervously as he let the bartender fill two highball glasses with the 107 proof bourbon the rep was in house promoting. He downed one quickly, in order to free up his (technically) non-drinking hand for some tasty morsels. "I knew I was in trouble the moment I walked into the gym this morning, and overheard Pepper cursing my name. 'I'm gonna hurt him…I'm gonna break him…where are you, Pemphy?' came the taunts," he said.

Zarin looked disoriented. "Gym? Are you serious? Do I know you?"

"I hear ya, pal. Look, I've successfully ignored my wife's nagging to get off my ass for years, but when the girlfriend buys you a Getting-in-Shape series for your birthday, that monsieur, you cannot disregard. There are consequences." Pemphigus was trying to get the food in at a faster clip than the tale coming out, and as a result, splattered a fair amount of apricot dipping sauce across the front of his shirt. He looked like someone who might offer questionable medical advice as part of even routine checkups.

Zarin got a refill, and reluctantly reopened shop. "Alright, against my better judgment, you're on the clock. Gimme the rundown, but don't take advantage of me. Remember, we are trying to get obliterated here."

"So I'm all decked out in my color-coordinated gymcat attire—that's the girlfriend too, naturally—when I quietly attempt to warm up without Pepper noticing me. I'm pedaling on a stationary bike—still can't see the point of this activity—when some creepy looking bald guy takes the bike right next to mine and winks. At least two dozen open bikes in two banks, and he has to take that one. That's my Fitness 101 intro. Next, Pepper kicks my ass for the better part of an hour—she really enjoyed watching me suffer…I think she's got issues—and then makes me down some lime green concoction with a "leafy texture;" says it's part of a healthy lifestyle. Green! You know I can't stand green of any shade in my diet.

"Later, after the workout, for the pièce de résistance, I hop into the shower stalls. The place is completely empty, thank God. I've never been big on the boys' club thing. Anyway, I'm lathering up good, and who should join me but another member of the smiley brigade. Now, there must be more than a dozen shower heads spread out around the perimeter. He takes the one immediately to my left, and starts chatting me up, giving me the up and down. I can't take this crap, I tell you. I'm outta there, soapy hair and all. No time to rinse off. This one scared me silly. I dry off, and try dressing as quickly as possible. Without warning the guy comes out of the shower at full mast and starts doing cartwheels in the middle of the fuckin locker room. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. THIS IS MY FIRST VISIT TO THE HEALTH CLUB!"

Zarin laughed so hard his chair tipped over. No matter; he was feeling no pain at this point. "All that time and you never knew what you were missing. Hey, maybe I'll see you there tomorrow. I'll get there early, just so I can watch, Mr. Magnet. Make sure you wear something soft and sexy."