WHERE IS THE SIDEBAR? I NEED IT TO GET PLATES

[askTRP] [Rant/vent]

Okay, so I had the hardest time finding the sidebar today, it really shouldn't be this difficult. It directly impacted my ability to find some plates today as well, like, what the actual fuck?

...

Okay, so this is what happened:

I read some posts on this forum about lifting, so I went to the gym because I figured that that's where the sidebar would be because the gym and TRP are related.

I also read about cold approaching at the gym all the time on here so I thought I'd get myself some plates there while I'm at it.

...

I WAS WRONG

...

One thing went wrong after the other, it was like clockwork.

So first of all, I didn't know what a sidebar looks like. I found a deadlift bar, a bench press bar, even an adjustable bar for doing curls, but no sidebar anywhere to be seen. Like, are you guys trolling me about the sidebar or something? Like dayum

...

At this rate I was getting pretty annoyed. I did my entire workout without seeing a sidebar anywhere, so I abandoned my first mission and instead I asked two nearby guys where I can get some plates.

One of the guys, we'll call him 'Dickface', because he didn't help me much at all, pointed me towards some 45 lb weights that go on bars.

I thought he heard me wrong because clearly he wasn't pointing at any hot women, let alone not even a HB5. Like, come on, Dickface, I can find weights by myself, he had to have been mocking me.

I said in response, "bruh those aren't plates." Then Dickfaces's friend, who I'll call "Pokerface" because of his deadpan seriousness, when he he obviously followed up by joking even further, said that "those actually were plates".

But Pokerface said it all polite and what not, which really grinded my gears because those definitely weren't chicks, or even people for that matter, they were weights. He had to have known that 100% before he trolled me like that in front of everyone.

...

At this point, I'm not just annoyed, but indignant about it. So I told them, "How the fuck am I supposed to spin these plates man?" They both feigned confusion and asked me what I was talking about. Obviously they were either really blue-pilled and still plugged into the mattix or Chad and Brad that needed to get off their high horse.

Knowing at least the first rule of TRP, I said, "first rule of fight club, don't talk about fight club". Then they started posturing and said "hey man, we don't want any trouble". Like, what was that about? I was just quoting TRP

...

A female personal trainer, A.K.A. Karen, then came by and asked what the problem was and if she could help me. I told her that "I can't find the sidebar and that it would be great if she could personally help me with getting laid right now"

Her and Dickface and Pokerface just gave me the dirtiest looks and then Karen called me a creep and said she was kicking me out. Like what the fuck? She's a personal trainer, she can't personally help me with plate advice there?

She works at the gym, she should have advice on how I can get laid with plates there. Her panties must have really been riled up in a bunch before I even got there or something, because I was being polite and reasonable despite my growing inpatience with that whole fiasco.

I tried to hold frame by saying "no you won't" and she gave me one of these "shit tests" about getting security. I couldn't agree and amplitude fast enough before she stormed off.

...

Well, while Karen and Dick and Pokerface stormed off, I decided to try to spin those "plates" they were talking about, maybe that just attracts nearby women or something. Well, one of the "plates" slipped and rolled into some dad's younger daughter's foot and she screamed and started crying.

At this point everyone is just pissed at me so I start booking it out of there before the off-chance anyone might misperceive that was my fault. Afterall, I asked about spinning plates before and no one really helped me know how. They said I was banned on my way out, which sucked.

That was the only gym in my town so now I'm royally fucked. How am I supposed to lift now and make gains? I just wanted plates today, what was their problem?

...

Anyway, sorry for the rant. Where was I supposed to find the sidebar at the gym? It really shouldn't have been that hard if everyone that lifts knows about it but me.

I'm so confused.

TL;DR sidebar was too hard to find at the gym and Karen and some gym bros made it so that I couldn't lay any plates there because of it. Where was I supposed to be able to find it at the gym?

@Durek_The_Bald

#OwnYourPooWeekly

I was 53 years old. I'd been a fan of Shrek ever since the first movie came out in 2001, though I may have been somewhat older than the target audience.

My wife of 33 years hated my devotion to Shrek. In hindsight, I can kind of see why. She'd ask why I liked Shrek so much, to which I could only reply:

Shrek is love. Shrek is life.

One day, she had enough and dropped a nuclear shit test upon my masculine alpha-wolf sigma-frame:

Shrek is for children, and you're a baby. You're also a giant faggot.

I seethed in my masculine anger and manly aggression, but held oak-Skittles-Man-frame.

fuck you, you stupid bitchy cunt! I hope you and your mother die in a fiery car crash!

...I replied, calmly and rationally.

Then, she insulted me with the worst insult imaginable:

You don't go well.

As masculine manly tears welled up in my eyes whilst my iron heart was torn asunder, the advice of our marriage counselor echoed within my perfectly calm and rational alphasigma brain:

share your feelings. don't be afraid to be vulnerable.

I dropped to my knees, sobbing.

honey, when you say such things, you harm me to the very quick of my masculine soul!

To which she hypergamously shit tested:

You don't go well, at all. You're a giant baby who's obsessed with a baby movie franchise. And Shrek is retarded.

As I sobbed my manly tears of seething vexation, through the snot i suddenly smelled onions. A familiar voice came through the wall:

I think you need to leave, you awful bitch.

It was Shrek!

The wall bust in, Kool-Ade Man style, and there in is ogre glory he stood, his eshrekt penis glistening in the light.

WHAT. THE. FUUUUUUUUUCK?!

...my wife screamed.

She ran out of the house, jumped in the car, and burned on out of the driveway.

The massive ogre turned his attention to me. I was already on my knees, and I wanted to please the ogrelord.

I presented myself to him like a female red-assed baboon in heat.

As he entered me and began thrusting, I passed out from the pain.

I woke up in the ICU. As my ultrasigma mind recalled the events that led me there, tears of joy streamed down my face. They smelled vaguely of swamp gas and onion juice.

Shrek is love.

Shrek is life.