Everybody is on my butt about my gut.
Even the Crack Puppy.
Recently, very unexpectedly, she did a savage WWWF-type body slam right into my unflexed, half-asleep-in-bed, middle-age, abs-of-pudding, gut.
The immensity of that pain, plus more than the occasional pregnancy joke, has compelled us to once again go all *Jack LaLanne and buff up.
We have a new, used treadmill, not to be confused with the old, used treadmill that karked it.
The new, used, treadmill is a hand-me-down from the Asian side of the family.
I don’t want to go all anthropomorphic on you, but I am certain it is a racist treadmill and does not at all like my honky gut.
After positioning it in the basement, next to where the Moosedawg sleeps, I gave it a test walk. And it tried to kill me.
I had turned it on, climbed aboard, and was trying to adjust to the new “cockpit”. It is vastly more high-tech than the old one, with millions of electronic bells and whistles, none of which work, of course, except for the heartbeat monitor. It will electrocute you if you try to use it.
So I’m putzing along at about 4mph and, being a guy, I slam her into warp drive, you know, just to see what she will do.
And what she does is burn rubber and immediately blast to about 900mph, hurling my gut and I sideways, onto the bookcase. Not kidding.
There were no witnesses, so I can’t prove it was trying to kill me. But deep down, I know. Stupid racist treadmill.
It had never tried to harm the Asian relatives. I bet it actually loved them because, collectively, their whole family weighs less than my gut.
Giving them a workout was a piece of cake.
Giving me and my gut a workout, after we have enjoyed several pieces of cake, and a can of those addictive Asian peanut thingees, seems to strain the little motor.
Tough. The hand-me-down, “I.F.S. Sport Treadmill” with “Air~Step” and “Cushion Deck” will just have to suck it up while the round man gets totally ripped.
Unless the murderous, racist treadmill has its way, in which case the basement crime scene will look like this.
P.S. This treadmill will last forever. The GM Finance has decreed that anyone who uses it shall NOT wear shoes, just socks. We are not kidding.
* Yes, we realize Jack is dead, which does not bode well
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