I didn't want to do this. I generally abhor the declaration of war on anybody. But I have been given no choice. Today is a date that will live in infamy. The enemy has brought the battle and has drawn first blood. I am now an army of one, fighting to end the atrocity that has crippled so many: gratuitous old man nudity in the locker room.

These poor men are so preoccupied with the shrinkage of their 401ks that they don't even realize they're pants-less.In order to get the full story, I must return to a time of beautiful peace. About a year ago, I was wrapping up my degree and working out at an impressive gym. One day I was changing back to civilian clothes when I happened to notice a dude who had just gotten out of the shower. No homo. There's no escaping the presence of naked dude standing feet from you. Anyway, this other guy entered the locker room with a head of steam. He obviously was oblivious to his surroundings and as he turned the corner to head towards his locker, there was an inevitability that he was about to come in a little hot.

Unfortunately for everyone in the room, said naked man was literally standing in front of Speedy's destination. The poor guy didn't recognize this obstacle until he was within 2 or 3 feet. Both men realized that a catastrophic event was upon them and one darted to his left and the other darted to his right and they collided, slamming hand into penis. They each made an awkward sound of horror and looked at each other knowing that one of them was now going to have to die.

Naked men in locker room hot tub
"Wait, whose penis is that…?"
The sweet symphony of unspoken rules reigned supreme in that locker room. Personal space was treated like a holy ground, not to be treaded on for fear that it would haunt you for the rest of your life. These days have come and gone, sadly, as I now work out around oldies, fatties, and fuglies in the tiny confines of a grown-ups gym. I am always surprised how inconsiderate these people are compared to the kids at the gym because even though the youngsters tended to dress to impress when they worked out, they at least understood the general rules of human decency.

Look, I support the "getting naked in the locker room" thing. Until we can figure out a way to change clothes without removing them the way chicks do, I believe there is an acceptable, albeit minimal level of bare-assing that should be allowed. Our generation has sorta lost track of this practicality and prefers to shower in spacesuits rather than run the risk of another dude seeing their man parts. However, I'll take Johny Rocketman over old-assed John Holmes any day.

I have had to learn to duck and dive while sitting down. There have now been multiple instances where evasive maneuvers were required to avoid accidentally giving a BJ to a dude who swung his junk around as if he were hula hooping. I have had to bring back the electric slide simply to avoid jerking off a passerby. I took these attempts at killing my manhood in stride and always made excuses for these sad sacks of sag. It must be the economy, I thought. These poor men are so preoccupied with the shrinkage of their 401ks that they don't even realize that they are pants-less. I then reasoned that these guys asses had melted so badly that the weight of elastic and khaki was enough to break a hip. Finally, I thought perhaps there was a senility issue here and that perhaps they didn't even know they had left the house, and thus pants were optional.

The strange thing is that these exhibitionists always seem to have towels on their shoulders. Is it too much to ask to bring that rag down a little bit and cover yourself up? Why must the world bask in the light of your man stick? Nobody ever seems to even notice the strange things that go on backstage at the gym. Everyone is so busy airing out their packages and grievances to one another. It's like an all-male group therapy session with a strict dress code requiring full disclosure.

Perhaps I am overreacting, I thought. Maybe I needed to be a little less homophobic and embrace the realities of my home away from home. I decided to take a whirl in the hot tub today sans clothing. The sudden need to conform had overcome me and I headed towards the water, not realizing that it was actually part of the Pacific Ocean.

In my time of crisis, all the geriatric squatter could muster was an overstare at my genitals.It was a quiet Sunday morning, not very different from December 7, 1941. As I approached, I immediately went on the defensive when I saw an old, commy bastard in thick glasses doing squats at the base of the stairs. I politely asked if I could squeeze by and he moved enough for me to slide quickly past him. As I strategically maneuvered however, in my haste, I did not realize the proximity of the concrete seat in front of me and slammed into it, ripping a massive hole in the haul of my knee as if I had just been defeated by an iceberg.

I began to bleed badly and the water actually began to turn a shade of red. I tried to shake it off as the old man continued to bend his back side within 18 inches of my face, but I realized that I was going down.

And then, it happened: a ripple of ass water bounced up and I swallowed it and immediately went under. I was the mighty Arizona, brutally destroyed by hate and selfishness. As I began to lose consciousness, I noticed the man staring through super thick glasses down from the observation deck at my mast, which floated aimlessly in the breeze of the current. In my time of crisis, all the geriatric squatter could muster was an overstare at my genitals. I thought, Is this what Alannis was aiming for when she tried to define irony? Before I could answer that question, however, the world went dark.

I awoke to the realization that I was coughing water into the face of a man with a mustache. I had been revived by a dude with a hairy lip cover, and the area around my mouth felt unbelievably raw. The next thing I noticed was that I had just been essentially tongue kissed by a man who was equally as naked as me. In fact, a group of elders had crowded around me to witness my moment, except for the man in the hot tub, who still appeared to be practicing sitting and standing in the water.

I got up, muttered a thank you, quickly threw my clothes on to cover up the chill down my spine that one experiences when they truly lose their dignity. My bloody leg stung with the realization that it was on. I was going to have to kill this pointless penis showing game.