Last night I was at the gym, sweating and puffing away on an exercycle when I was involved in one of the more idiotic conversations of my life. And I'm in Scamper, people. I've been involved in more than my fair share of truly idiotic conversations.

As with most gyms, there are televisions in front of the cardio area so that you can read lips of various television programs while your eyes are filling with the sweat and blood caused by this hellish unnatural state known as "exercise." At my gym, there are three channels: ESPN, CNN and MTV.

If it's one of the three hours a day when SportsCenter isn't showing, I have to watch one of the shows with ugly-ass sportswriters yelling at each other and hitting buzzers for some reason. Pass. CNN at least has the ticker running across the bottom, but they've been a little Anna Nicole-heavy for my taste. In all fairness, she did negotiate the Northern Ireland ceasefire before her death, so she's probably worthy of the #1 international news organization's full attention. Still, no thanks.

All this leaves us with MTV. Yesterday, there were two consecutive episodes of Next. Score. This program is perfect for watching without sound because a) it features heavy amounts of 18-year old boobs, b) you don't really need to understand what they're saying to follow the "story," and c) did I mention the 18-year old boobs?

As I settled in for my mind-numbing boob-a-thon, a conversation between two meatheads on the exercycles next to me began:

Meathead #1: She's such a bitch. She nexted that guy right away.
Meathead #2: Yeah, you can tell she's a bitch, even without the sound.
Meathead #1: She's not even that hot.
Meathead #2: She's probably going to next all of them just because she's such a bitch.

I am only human. I was unable to resist entering myself in the fray of this conversation.

Me: It's set up that way.
Meathead #1: What do you mean?
Me: The producers probably tell her to next a few people before she picks one.
Meathead #1: Nah, she's a bitch. She'll next them all.
Me: Clearly, all the shows are set up the same way. They even have writers giving the kids lines to say.
Meathead #2: They have writers?
Me: You know how the guys in the bus all say something in unison at the end? You think they came up with that spontaneously? It's all fake.
Meathead#1: Yeah, I guess...
Me: All the Kallissa Miller productions have that same bad acting quality. Date My Mom, Dismissed, the new one with the lie detection software that's name escapes me...
Meathead #2: Who's Kallissa Miller?
Me: She's the executive producer and braintrust of these shows! She's the one that's pulling all the strings like the mighty puppetmaster!
Meathead #1: Dude, there's blood in your eyes.
Me: Curse you, Kallissa Miller and your sweet nutrition-less television nectar! I can't resist your combination of pure hatred and 18-year old man-ass! AAAAARGH
[I collapse on the floor.]
Meathead #1: Dude, that was weird.
Meathead #2: Yeah. You want to date rape the volleyball team tonight?
Meathead #1: It's like you're reading my mind, dude.
[They high five and then kiss.]

Yup, that's pretty much exactly how it happened.

I'm going to be away for the rest of the week, so I'll catch you cats on Monday. Peace.