No bro.

Oh pardon me Mr. Muscle Man, I apologize for getting in your way. I can tell you're concentrating on your circuit training here at the local gym, and I'm sorry for taking your attention away from adjusting your fingerless mittens because, God forbid you have 60 inch biceps and hands that aren't as soft as a little lamb's wool. I have some questions for you and your identical twin that's also dressed in matching blue "Ladder 49" firefighter T-shirt and shorts combo. Does the firehouse make you wear matching outfits when you leave? Are there other physical appearance criteria that have to be met? Does the captain make you all quaff your hair exactly the same, with not too much product to make it look greasy, but just enough to get those bangs standing straight up? Does he make you tan? Are the barbed wire and tribal tattoos a requirement? Do all of the guys of Ladder 49 shave their legs or is that so in case you're running to escape the fire you can lose the pants so you can run faster like Jack Black's character in Orange County "Joe..John...JoeJohn" did so he could "run faster out of the flames" that ended up being "totally electrical?" What about your little fireman belt that have your handheld radio but also a connecting microphone with button like a trucker uses because you wouldn't want to talk directly into your walky talky? Is it fireman protocol to make sure you place that belt, with fireman chatter on full volume, in the most visible, unnecessary place possible, or is that up to individual consent? Isn't your firehouse on the same block as the gym? Couldn't the captain just walk down the sidewalk and stick his head in the door of the 1100 square foot gym and with a very moderately raised voice say, "Hey guys, the tanning bed caught fire, come back to the firehouse" and as you grab your muscle milk, notebook for writing down rep counts and max weights and, of course, your fireman belt with radio WITH attached microphone the captain says "I would have called you on the radio but it was upstairs and, well, this was quicker." I hate to keep asking you so many questions because I know you just got new bulbs in that bed but is it possible for either of you to complete a sentence or finish a set with out the use of "bro?"

And then I ask myself "why am I here?"

Maybe deep down I'm jealous of how many "curls for the girls" these guys can crank out. Maybe I want to pack on twice what I weight in pure, hypodermically injected muscle and scare small children when I walk down the street. Maybe I like the smell of sweat and ladies shaving cream because God only knows what it must take to get legs on a man of that stature, that, smooth.

Or,

Maybe its because in the last 24 hours, I've single handedly eaten one and one half 14 inch, two topping, deep crust Papa John's pizzas. Maybe it's because I've got three generations of heart disease on deck and I don't like the fact that on my walk to the gym I sweat out pure garlic butter dipping sauce and a whole pepperoni. Maybe its because instead of pouring into a glass some of the Mountain Dew I ordered with my two pizzas, I grab it like a beer bottle and drink it straight, because, well, I'm an adult. Maybe I'm at the gym because even after my first "feeding" of eight slices, I stopped only because I wanted to have some for later and NOT because I was full, or, maybe I'm just there because I want to continue with my mature eating habits, and in some demented mathematical formula I've created in my head, I figure that as long as I go the gym, not necessarily do anything, but just go, then I can eat whatever I want without any consequences. "Add ten thousand, carry the two, yea, that sounds about right."

I guess in the case of a fire that started because I left my pizza box in the oven for too long, I would want someone who could pick me up and carry me outside, but let's be honest, do you actually think I take the time to heat it up?

No bro. No.