Hey Bud, Wanna Lift?


(Two bros are sitting around one afternoon. Just chilling)

Frank: “Hey, bud you’re looking pretty swole today. I was thinking of hitting the gym. You wanna join? You could spot me, or I could spot you, it doesn’t really matter. Just come with me. We’ll have a good time. Maybe I’ll show you a good time, or you’ll show me a good time. Who knows. We’ll just have to see what happens. So what do you say, bud? Come lift with me, bud?”

Kyle: “Uhhh…”

Frank: “You’re a man of few words today, eh bud? I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Let’s go!”


(The bros are at the gym now. Frank is ready to do some benching. He has asked Kyle to spot for him. Kyle doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything.)


Frank: (Benching 60 lbs) “One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Wow! That was easy. You want a turn bud?”

Kyle: “Uhhh…”

Frank: “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Here I’ll go again. 60 was way too easy, I can do more.”


(Frank spends the next five minutes searching the gym for more weights to put on the barbell. Soon he has loaded more than 300 lbs onto the bar and the two sides definitely aren’t balanced. Kyle stays at the bench, seeming very disinterested.)


Frank: (Straining against 600 something pounds) “Uggghhh! Hrrrnng! Ahhhh!”


(Frank finally manages to lift the bar off of the rack. His arms are not nearly strong enough to lift that much, and the bar comes crashing down onto his chest. Kyle does not respond, unphased by his friend’s broken rib cage.)


Frank: (In pain) “What the fuck, bud! I thought you were spotting me!”


(Having heard Frank’s cries of pain, several other lifters have now rushed over to the bench to check up on him. They are all very concerned over his broken ribs and very confused as to why he brought his marijuana to the gym.)