Man, I swear, that dude over there at the corner is clearly trying to mask his insecurity at how the instructor is training his wife. Yeah, the one lifting all of 2 kilos on each hand while throwing intermittent, but frequent, glances at where the gym instructor is guiding his wife on her stretches and cardio. Not that one – the other one with a disappearing hairline and a paunch the shape and size of three ostrich eggs. There’s no way all that relentless panting and those ginormous veins across his forehead come from his poorly executed push-ups. He’s definitely doing everything he can to not blow up whenever he eyes the body contact the ripped instructor is making with his wife. I am no lip-reader but is that a silent curse-word I saw leave his lips? Whoa, my guy, someone needs to holla at the instructor real quick, tell him to tone it down. I am no psychic or something, but I am seeing that dude at the corner fucking shit up in the very near future; he’s rapidly approaching his “hell no” threshold and it won’t be pretty in here when that happens. Yo, bruh, we gotta get out of here. What do you mean “do something” – I don’t like being involved in this kind of drama with grown-ass men. I don’t know about this gym; somebody’s gonna get hurt and not by the equipment and don’t say I never told y’all. Peace out!
– Mharere Mkare.
Where Mharere Mkare came from remains mysterious. In fact, no one has ever seen him or her (or them – for that matter). All we know is that he/she/they roam(s) the world like it’s his/her/their backyard and nothing – especially no truth – can be hidden away from him/her/them. Everything he/she/they say(s) is very serious; laugh at your own risk.