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Getting fit should come with a health warning, warns PJM. "In my pursuit of the body beautiful, I've broken three exercise bikes and two running machines, concussed myself and, most distressingly, bruised my testicles." And he's yet to try and get out of his contract...

(, Thu 9 Jul 2009, 13:45)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

The most disturbing thing that's happened to me in a gym was when I walked into the changing rooms after a session and there was a guy, stark naked, standing on a towel, staring at himself in the mirror. I don't mean he was flexing and checking himself out, I mean he was glaring at himself with a look of hatred that you wouldn't give your worst enemy. He was staring so intently, I'm not sure if he knew I was there. It really creeped me out.

So, I chucked my clothes in the locker, grabbed my towel and went into the showers as quickly as possible. The guy had the look of a psychopath and I didn't want to be in the same room as him, so I had a leisurely 20 minute shower thinking that he'd be gone by the time I finished. He was still there when I got back. He hadn't moved an inch. He was still totally naked. Still standing on his towel. He looked like he wanted to kill the person in the mirror. He didn't move the entire time it took me to get dressed. He didn't even move when I had to stand in front of him to do my hair. He was still there when I left. I never went back to that gym. He might still be there.

For completeness, other notable mentions include:

The guy show dried his balls with a hairdryer.
The old guy who shook his arms around like he was having an epileptic fit while holding onto a couple of dumbbells.
The drug dealer who tried to do business out of the changing rooms.
The SAS fantasist who kept trying to start a conversation about how he completed the SAS entry tests.
The old gay guy who thought that the changing rooms was a good place to pull.

Do I get bonus points for lurkage?
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 21:38, 1 reply)
York University (Toronto) has a phobia about biceps and small towels
On my first visit to the gym at York University I was denied access because I was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt. I laughed and thought it was a joke until they showed me their official policy on shirt sleeve length:

Fitness Centre Mandatory Policies
All users must:

1. Wear a T-shirt (no cap sleeves)
2. Bring a towel (min. 22” by 42”)
3. Have valid tag visible on shoe
4. Not bring personal items into the Fitness Centre (e.g. bags)

(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 21:25, 2 replies)
Communal pubes
I am a reasonably young woman with a rather slender figure, thanks to a gastrointestinal issue. Yes, kids, nature means I shit myself quite thin indeed.

This time last year, I got the bright idea that what I wanted extra special most of all were some giant muscles. I wanted to flex for Ross Kemp-alikes and put the fear of gangs into them. I wanted to go to the pub and lift hefty strangers as an act of awesome strength to the loving applause of passersby. As such, I joined a gym.

Now, it wasn’t the laziness or the pain or the desire to have squishy muscles that put me off all the working out, it was the shower. The communal shower.

I’m comfortable with my own mimsy, arse and breasts, but not really keen on the bendy-over woman with the giant clitoris. Or standing up after a foot scrub and twanging my face off a middle-aged woman’s tits. Or the fact that strangers’ pubes were on the walls, floor, bench – in fact, I’d leave with more pubes attached to me (and in non-pubic regions) than when I arrived. Or the time somebody curled one out into the drain. Or, or…

Men: you might think it is a soapy, sexy, titty gigglefest. I assure you, it isn’t
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 20:42, 5 replies)
Positive Reinforcements
I used to watch Jack Lalanne's TV exercise show when I was a kid. It felt good to be emphatically told what a sorry, spineless sack of fat I was, even when I was only nine years old. Got me in the proper spirit for adulthood.

I remember the first health club I ever entered - a hushed temple to muscles. They had some kind of device that would roll along the soles of your feet that I've never seen before, or since: absolutely orgasmic! Never knew I was even sensitive down there! Certainly beats sex! A lot less work and more ennobling, somehow!

One day, I entered a raffle and won a FAT book. It tells you how many calories everything has. Nothing draws the ladies at a potluck to your side faster than knowing just how sinful you all are.

These days, I do lots of step aerobics. There is nothing better than hopping up-and-down for an hour at a time, the only guy amidst thirty beautiful women! Well, nothing better until they bring those foot rollers back into vogue....
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 20:40, Reply)
Hothouse Flower.
In future can you all just assume that any of my tales begin with “Many moons ago…” because most of them probably will.

I was a member of the YMCA gym. It was small but perfectly formed with a large York multi-gym, a shitload of free weights (including Olympic bars etc.) and a sauna. I used to train Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturday mornings. The Friday session was straight from work, all gear was left locked up in a cupboard and out we went on the beer. As a result Saturday morning sessions were somewhat restrained, usually consisting of throwing a few free weights around in a desultory manner and repairing to the sauna as soon as possible. Now I’ve never been much of a hothouse flower and as a result never bothered with the sauna, until one Saturday when I had not just had my own skinful the night before but also another two persons as well. I was not in the best of states.

So, my best buddies in the whole wide world convinced me that the sauna would be my saviour and I was much too hungover to argue. It was nice and hot in there and the lads generously cooled things down by adding mentholated water to the hot stones (I know, I know). They even convinced me that the best thing to do would be to lie down on the top bench and relax. This I did and got so relaxed I fell asleep. They woke me about an hour later and I left to get showered. Leaving the sauna I took a deep breath of the deliciously cool air and promptly collapsed like a cotton mill chimney. I woke to the feel of mentholated water being poured all over me and the laughter of my bestest buddies. They’d been planning it for some time and just waiting for the opportune moment. Cunts.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 19:09, 1 reply)
no shirt, no shoes, no merkins
After my ass trembling session of Power Yoga I retreated to the YMCA ladies locker room to shower. I considered my stench a personal best as far as body odor goes and I wanted to jump in the pool stench free in consideration of my fellow swimmers. I’m not some gross sociopath who wishes to pollute the pool with all my stinky cooties.

As I walk past the steam room, I see it. Taped on the steam room door, is a laminated sign that reads, “Please, there is no shaving allowed in the steam room. No lotions or oils inside.” This sign is new. It wasn’t here the last time I was in the ladies locker room.

Do you know what that means? Let me explain. Since I was last in this YMCA, someone brought in a razor and shaving cream and attempted, or possibly succeeded, in depilitating the hair on their body. The most likely scenario is the legs.


The other possibility is the pubic region and perhaps the anus as well.

My YMCA is top o’ the line. It’s not some bus station bathroom where transients freshen up in the community sinks and comb the lice out of their hair with a desiccated fishbone.

I have tended to my hirsute frame in many bathrooms and even a few kitchens on occasion. But I have never been tempted to shave my pits, legs, bush or corn hole in the public arena. Even when I pay to get a wax, the tiny room has only two inhabitants, the shameless Russian immigrant dripping hot wax onto my beaver, and me.

What type of woman brings her grooming into a public steam room? She is no friend of mine I’ll tell you that. Already I feel I see too much of the women in the locker room. Stretch marks, abdominal scars, ingrown hairs, cellulite, ass pimples and lots and lots of tits. The towels are plentiful. Ladies, please take one. Or two.

Back to the exhibitionist shaver. What’s the demographic? She could be older I guess.

Maybe someone divorced who’s clearly put a good distance between herself and someone who actually gives a shit about what others think.

Maybe she’s someone younger who’s ignorant to the etiquette of such personal grooming nuances. Someone raised on porn who feels it’s perfectly acceptable to offer the world a calling card of freshly shaved gash as you’re looking to sweat out some chicken tikka or paneer.

Maybe she’s an asshole. A hairy asshole.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 18:58, 1 reply)
Work the body and the brain!
My local gym is okay (bar for the fact that on top of the £25 a month AND £22 induction AND lockers at £1.50 a pop AND it's a leisure centre, so it gets some of my taxes), and I do try to go. However my favourite machines are the running machines. Not because I'm particularly fit, but because they have TV's on them.

I usually go straight after work, and the only thing worth watching are quiz shows, which ITV seem to be pretty good at at the moment.

So during a workout I watch them, but whilst sporting wise I will happily let people win (because I'm rubbish), quizzes I am VERY competitive. As such I'm one of those people who screams out the answers. Which I do with gusto during a workout.

It makes a change from the usual grunts and groans - screaming "MUNICH!", "THE 1974 FA CUP FINAL!", "RWANDA!", "THE ARCHERS!" etc. keeps people on their toes I think.

I'm not allowed to watch quiz shows during sex.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 18:07, 1 reply)
For the first time in my life I recently joined one.

It's called "The Gym". It costs £15 per month and there's no contract. It's based in Hounslow, that's right... Hounslow.

You'd think that after just a month of being a member I'd have a raft of tales to tell, but I don't. None of your horror stories, no hideous and indecent acts on a scale that defies ridiculousness. Nothing at all.

I'm really quite disappointed by the place, it's actually very good. Sure, being good is fine for a gym, but what good is it as far as tales for this is concerned, hmmm? I'll tell you what good it is: it really isn't very good at all. Not even slightly.

Knowing me I'll probably end up getting all fit and not falling off any machines or injuring myself on any of the well maintained equipment. It'll no doubt prove easily to be worth the relatively small monthly payment and I'll extract maximum benefit from it, proving myself right in making the choice to join in the first place. I'll probably even learn to enjoy it, eventually.

What a load of rubbish.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 17:35, 3 replies)
the swimming pool..
in my ex gym was inhabited by perverts and weirdos,the main two consisted of"the watcher"and "thrasher"(brilliant and well thought of names)now thrasher was generally harmless(his name didnt relate to him thrashing his cock or anything perverse)but his swimming style was very, lets say unique,he would jump into the pool and start a weird type of backward butterfly, twatting poor children and anyone who got in the way of his flaying spassy arm efforts,he seriously looked like he was fitting.
Now watcher was a total first class pervert with an uncanny resembelance to the great aussie cricketer merv hughes,the showers were opposite the sinks and above the sinks where two massive mirrors,so you could, if so inclined, watch yourself showering(not that i did obviously),if you had the unfortunate timing wrong then you got to share the showers with "watcher"(come to think of it i only ever saw him in the showers never in the gym or pool).so after a few minutes you would glance into the mirrors and see"watcher" just staring at you via the huge mirrors.now what do you do in this situation?do you give him the front view or the rear?either way he was going to imagine you being the stick or sponge,so you had to shower sideways and that really wasn`t a winning move either.so i always had the fastest showers humanly possible.
this happened for about six months and i wasn`t the only one to notice it,so being the brave man i was i told the receptionist,she looked a bit uncomfortable and explained that"watcher"was in fact a very unfortunate man who after a car accident had sustained so much brain damage he was effectivly left with the mental age of a 10 year old..
i felt really bad..really bad..not for the fact that i felt sorry for him, but that a 10 year old was checking my cock out was just wrong.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 17:28, 1 reply)
It's important in the gym to use the machines correctly.
If you use the gym at an off-peak time you may find yourself the only athlete in the room. This is no time to burn valuable calories. Simply lie on the bench press table with your hands gripping the weight. Once the door opens you lift three times, counting out "Nine hundred and four, nine hundred and five,nine hundred and six." Then you stand up, claiming that you aren't on top form today, and couldn't finish your usual work out.
Word will spread, and you will soon be the most popular person in the jamesnasium.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 16:56, Reply)
Like everyone else I joined my gym in a bid to shed the pounds but after the initial enthusiasm wore off I found better and more convoluted reasons not to go.

The usual cliques of beautiful people pissed me off by strutting past, preening themselves as they went, whilst I sweated like a badly coordinated cornered nun on the treadmill, I got naffed off having to take a chunk out of my day to exercise and I just didn't feel like I fitted ..... Eventually it became as alien an environment as Saturn. £25 per month has been had out of my account for the grand total of no meaningful gain but a spark of optimism thought "Maybe I'll go back".

Until this month. Due to building work, my bathroom is as fucked as the McCann's chances of seeing Madeline again. I have no tiles on the walls, I can see the bog from my living room and most importantly no shower. Suddenly that £25 per month has become a very acceptable price to pay to be able to not have to resort to a whore's bath in the sink and instead luxuriate under piping hot jets of water.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 16:40, Reply)
Star Wars
I went to fitness first in Canley, Coventry near to my work and two or three months went by without anything unsual, until I met the mental bloke in glasses. If anyone goes to this gym you might know him.

There i was in the changing room after a work out, just got out the of the shower bollock naked checking myself flexing in the mirror ( we all do it!) in walks the mental bloke, looks normal until he walks straight up to me bollock naked too and says "Have you seen the new star wars film?" and I made a mistake by saying yes I have, he then went on for about 20 mins about the film (revenge of the sith), all the time we're both naked and fully dripped dry. He then asks if I want to have a drink, at this point i thought he was gay, he wasnt he was a mentalist. I said no thanks and ran home.

The next day I saw him again in the weights room, my head phones blarring and having a shit day at work i mimed to him to fuck off. he did and moved on to another bloke and starting talking shit to him, while I looked and laughed.

Not a very funny story but thats all that really happend to me at the gym, expcept when I went after a night shift and fell asleep on the bench press for two hours and woke up to a que of two blokes.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 16:39, 3 replies)
I've got
a nice new shiny office in the West End, am on a bit of a health kick recently and decided to see if I could find a local gym. Open Google, type "gyms in W1F" and hit "Search".

What's this first result? "Sweatbox Soho"? Sounds interesting. Clicky cli....oh.

Thing is; I am their target market, but it's probably not a site you want to open in your browser in the middle of an open-plan office.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 15:24, 2 replies)
Enzyme has already mentioned Fitness First.
I used to be a member too, until I ran out of money and had to leave. Now, I personally did not have a problem leaving: I included the phrase "a copy of this letter has been sent to my bank manager and to my soliciter" in my cancellation letter. Mostly because I googled "fitness first cancellation" to see if there could be any problems with cancelling. I found this: fitnessfirstsucks.com

Some of the lenghts that FF will go to are horrendous, and I'm actually surprised they haven't had several fraud cases launched against them yet.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:58, 7 replies)
Fact 2

Talk to any cardiologist and they'll tell you that your heart only has a finite number of beats in it. This is fixed at birth - all down to your genes.

So, when you go haring around, pushing your heart-rate up, you're actually using up loads of your precious heart-beats.(1)

Think about it...


(1) May contain doses of complete lie.....
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:32, 9 replies)
Harry and Paul
Anybody watch any of Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse's new TV series last year imaginatively titled 'Harry and Paul'?


Good, it was utter and total wank. Enfield and Whitehouse should be taken to a secluded area and put to sleep for that fucking pathetic attempt at entertainment.

I watched 10 minutes worth before turning over, cursing the BBC for stealing my money to produce that pile of discarded cock rot. How the fuck it was ever commissioned for a second (and rumour has it a third) series, is completely fucking beyond me. It's no wonder the TV and film industries are so stagnant, when this sort of colon matter is produced simply because two famous names are involved.

It was ball-bag achingly, turd eatingly, arse drippingly, cunt shittingly, funny as testicular cancer, rape and AIDS rolled into onely, fucking awful. If Whitehouse or Enfield had any self respect, they would fuck-off into retirement and stop wasting licence fee on their embarrassing glorified mutual wank.

Oh yes and some of the really, really, deeply unfunny sketches with the 'Pik the South African' were filmed in a gym I used to frequent.

(They also used to film grot vids in the pool area)
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:24, 1 reply)
fun alternative to hideous gyms
i'm too tight to pay for gym membership, and too lazy to feel obligated to go to get my moneys worth, if you want to be slim and have fun in the process, try the following top tips -

if you're sensible enough to smoke the herb, discipline yourself to not feed the munchies, fill up on squash instead for that full stomach feeling without the calories.

gym membership costs about £40 a month, a gram of mdma also costs £40,
divide the gram into four doses and go clubbing every other week, you'll get two months worth of excitement from that gram, a couple of months of that and you'll be wafer thin.

after consuming various amphetamines regularly over a period of years eventually your metabolism gets stuck on high, you can now curl up on the sofa with a big mac meal and a PS3 without fear of lardyism.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:20, 11 replies)
An open letter to the management of Fatness First.
As a paying customer of your club - one link in a not-insignificant fanchised chain - I feel I'm entitled to raise a few points and make a few requests.

1. Machinery. Machines break down. This is inevitable. However, I'm not convinced that it really takes nine months to call out an engineer.
2. Machinery again. Would it be too much to ask for it to be properly attached to the floor and properly balanced? I'm sure that a treadmill that wobbles when you step on it presents some kind of injury risk.
3. Cleanliness. Actually, the less said about this, the better. Let's just let the word "Passchendaele" do the work here. On the upside, I now know where to get all the second-hand elastoplast I could ever need. It's in the showers.
4. Airconditioning. I know that you pretend to have this, because there're big vents in the ceiling. However, I'm fairly sure that 27 celcius isn't the best possible temperature for a gym. That was how hot it was there last week. Even the more normal 20-22 is pushing it a bit, don't you think?
5. Music. Oh, god, the music. Why the hell does it have to be so loud? Even with my stereo turned up to its maximum volume, I can still here the thump-thump-thump of the same few chavpop tracks over and over and over again.
6. On the other hand, you do provide little boxes on the machines which, if they work, allow me to listen to the soundtrack of the TVs or the radio. Nevertheless - on the off-chance that I get bored of Sky Sports, Sky "News" or the wide selection of identikit local commercial radio stations, would it be too much to ask that Radio 4 or 6Music be made available as options? With 20 channels, you must surely be able to make room.
7. You've been refitting the showers for three months now. It's getting a bit silly.
8. Given that I hate the place so much, could you explain to me why I'm in there for over an hour every fucking day?

Thank you.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:19, 5 replies)
Kylie, Pot Plants & The Great Escape
Signing a gym contract is a lot like signing your soul over to the devil, only worse – the devil doesn’t rape your bank account every month via the strange, foul, dispicable medium named Direct Debit.

The gym I was at was officially shit. It was called Life. And its since – unsuprisingly – closed down. But before it closed it went through a transformation in a desperate attempt to claw back a bit of trade, it went trendy. It started playing Kylie tracks, which made me angry. Granted, I’d love to get hot and sweaty with Kylie, but not in this sense. They even introduced pot plants – fucking POT PLANTS!!! Seeeshhhhh!!! One time I quipped: “It’s Life gym, but not as we know it,” and made everybody in the changing room piss themselves laughing. OK, I was the only person in the changing room...

I went through my twice-weekly gym routine for a few weeks, but frankly I couldn’t stand it anymore. To add insult to injury they’d moved the multi gym away from my weapon of choice – the lateral trainer – so I couldn’t have a good, decent, honest perv over any lady who happened to be toning her inner thighs, watching as her growler slowly ate her crotch fabric with each and every groaning, straining, sweaty crunch. (There were times I felt like going over and giving these ladies a cigarette when they’d finished).

So, after I’d officially had enough, I visited the reception and told them I’d like to cancel my membership. They asked me why, I explained I didn’t like the new MTV ethos behind the place, Kylie’s voice went through me like nails down a blackboard, and that the pot plants were – quite frankly – scaring the bejesus out of me (spider plants are fucking nightmareish, horrible, terrible things).

I was told, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

I told them, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off too.

And I left, cancelled my direct debit, and forgot all about Life.

A couple of months later I start receiving letters. One a week, then two a week. They started off pretty tame, but after a while they got to the legal equivalent of ‘give us our fucking money or we’ll break you’re fucking kneecaps.’ Now they’d pissed me off. I mean really pissed me off.

So I decided to go back to the gym – one last time, and have it out with them. I called my mate Nicky, who’s a great big brutish fuckwit from Essex who looks like Shreks uglier, bigger, harder brother, and went down.

The look on the face of the girl behind the reception desk was great, she looked like she’d just been entered by a particularly nasty and well endowed incubus who had a penchant for buggery. “Can I help you, Sir?” she asked.

I explained I wasn’t going to be using the gym anymore. I explained I didn’t like the place, we talked about Kylie and the pot plants, I flashed her my ID membership card. She went to get the manager – when he turned up, the incubus appeared to move onto him, using whatever ethereal mighty cock power to playing havoc with his sphincter. He let out a little yelp. He looked round at the other patrons; a scene, apparently, was being made.

So, as you have to with large companies, village idiots, and fuckwits in general, I explained my situation again. Kylie – check, pot plants – check, didn’t like the place anymore – check.

He took another look at me. I drummed my fingers on the counter, my mate Nicky stood behind me looking all hard and menacing, and the manager said: “So you just don’t like the gym anymore? Is there… any other reason…erm… you can think of… errr…..” I remained silent. Eventually, he agreed to cancel my membership. On the spot. No questions asked.

“Thanks,” I said. “Nicky, you can wheel me back to the car now,” and Nicky did, grasping two great hands like sides off beef round the handles of the wheelchair and pushing me back out the lobby and to freedom outside. You could’ve heard a pin drop as we went. Though in my head the theme music for The Great Escape was playing on a continuous loop... On the way back to the car I started to hum it, Du-Dah Du-Du-Da-Du-Dah, and Nicky joined in, after calling me a cheeky twat a few dozen times.

(My girlfriend works with kids with cerebral palsy… if she ever finds out I ‘borrowed’ one of the foldable wheelchairs she occasionally has stowed in our flat, she’d fucking kill me)…
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:19, 6 replies)
Dreadful places.
Fifty quid a month to hang about with a load of fat, sweaty fuckers.

Fuck that.

WALK to the pub instead.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:17, Reply)
I'm 48 years old and have the body of a 47 year old. ( I also have the body of a twenty year old that I keep in the garage but that's another story....)

All these young fools trying to tell you how to live a healthy life by partaking of vast amounts of exercise and not drinking, taking drugs or smoking are talking out of their arses.

The guy who popularised jogging in the 70's - Jim Fixx - died of a massive heart attack whilst jogging.

Who found him?

Two smokers.

I rest my case.

(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 14:08, 4 replies)
At one gym I went to about twice a month, I was on the treadmill, and on the treadmill next to me there was a massive sweaty fat fucker.

"ha ha!" I thought. "look at that big fat fucker!".

He was there every time I went, and each time I would think "Jesus you are one fat fucker".

Until I realised about 6 months later that he had actually become a thin fucker, whereas I was still a fat one.

So the moral is - do not laugh at fat fuckers unless you are already a thin one. Something like that.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:58, 1 reply)
Poorly supported women-folk
On a treadmill going at a fair lick.

that is all.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:58, 2 replies)
My company
Gives me a free gym membership as part of my "remuneration package" and I've never set foot in the place.

I tried to renegotiate my "remuneration package" to exchange this gym membership for cash to spend on beer and pies but HR turned down my request.

(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:57, Reply)
So i was going to go to the gym last night. Honest and truly i was, kit all packed, raring to go. as soon as the kids were asleep.arse.
come 8.30 the little shits are still using their beds as trampolines.... come 9pm i've given up hope of going and instead decided that ordering a large pizza is kind of exercise. fucksocks
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:52, Reply)
I am a fat git. There's no denying it, my shirts don't fit, I have to unbutton my trousers in the afternoon just so I can sit comfortably.

So a week ago, I decided that, as I used to go twice a week (some 12 years ago) that squash would be the answer to not buying new clothes.

Sadly, after reading these posts about how people have gone for 2 years etc... and have even PUT ON weight, I'm starting to have second thoughts.

Especially as the first game last Tuesday nearly bloody killed me, and I can only just walk again now.

It seems we've been lied to - exercise is NOT good for you.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:49, 5 replies)
My gym story
I live near a gym - one of those bodybuilder blokey ones.

I walked past one day and saw my mate having a workout. I had a glass of water with him, had a quick chat then went home.

I don't think I'll be a winner this week.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:31, 4 replies)
how to get out of your gym contract
somebody i know got out of theirs by getting their girlfriend to phone up and say they had died. true story.
(, Fri 10 Jul 2009, 13:29, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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