Thou shalt not interrupt my routine

Girls at my gym seem to work out in packs. And by packs I mean packs of Squealing Banshees.

If I have to hear a sentence that contains "Whatevs" or "Defos" whilst trying to keep my RPM above 85 from said morons ever again I will poke them in the eye with my locker key, this is not Hollyoaks, please take your poor grammar elsewhere.

If I or everyone else on the treadmills wanted to know how many Smirnoff Ices you drank in Tiger Tiger last night we would have asked, Yet unsurprisingly we did not. But now unfortunately we know because you insist on shouting at each other, which would be totally unnecessary if you took out your bloody headphones and had a conversation at a decibel level that didn't involve anyone outside your party of mahogany tanned halfwits.

The main offense of said bunch of what I can only imagine to be some sort of pointless degree students apart from the constant barrage of squeaking on my poor defenseless ears is their sheer lack of actual exercise.
These girls bearly break a sweat, instead they appear to have mistaken the machines for some sort of seating area where they all sit around and discuss, at length might I add, just who fancies the dishy one from Skins the most.

Give me strength.