Humour workout needed

Further dispatches from the gym: I was finishing off on the rowing machine this evening, which is in the same room as all the free weights, which is where you get all the really macho, muscle-bound gym bunnies. Actually, they're more like boars than bunnies, but anyway. So anyway, there I am, rowing away, back, forth, back, forth, and this guy down the back starts really going at the weights. He's sweating, veins are bulging, the grimace is going all the way round to the back of his head, and then he starts grunting. In a strangely high-pitched voice: "Egh. Agh. Egh. Eegh. Eghhh! Agh. Eeghhh! Eegghhh! EEghhh!!" and so on. It gets louder and louder. "EEGHHH! AAGH!" Okay, fair play to him, he can lift heavy things, but it's getting ridiculous - the headband, the tight shorts, the glistening muscles -you know what I'm talking about. Finally, he goes for the burn, pushes it to the max, cliches the cliche to the cliche-ing cliche. "EGH-EGH-EGH! EGH-EGH-EGH-EGH-EEGHH-EEGGHHH!" And stops, suddenly. Silence. The silence is like his applause; you can see him glancing round the room for it.

So I stop rowing and call across the room: "Can you keep it down there, lad, you're giving me a hard-on." Nothing. The silence gets even louder. Everyone looks back at him, with his big, dorky, confused face on him, his chest going up and down like pigs in a lycra blanket, but no-one says anything. Not even a tweak of a smile.

Fecking humourless gym bunnies. I'm wasted on them.