I’m just sitting down after a great workout. I feel pert and refreshed, like a 32-year old, bearded Little Mermaid.
I was running on the treadmill, which I prefer over running outdoors because it allows me to continue watching TV. Also, it allows me to periodically stop and thrust my pelvis when the moment strikes (technically this is possible while on a sidewalk, but the neighbors get real funny about it). Lastly, treadmill running is nice because it combines the magic of the indoors with the pleasure of spending money on a treadmill.
Sitting down to write a blog post immediately following a 40-minute run is turning out to have been a bad idea. I’m dripping sweat all over the desk and my muscles are still twitching with energy, requiring extra concentration for typing these hilarious jokes. Also, now that my body is so taut and glistening, I’m less interested in humor and more interested in appearing in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Maybe I could do a tasteful one where the only thing covering my special area is a single stalk of wheat? That’d probably sell some t-shirts.
Well, now my computer is spackled with sweat and I’ve spent 20 minutes writing a thoroughly forgettable post. My momentum from the workout has withered and now I’m liable to spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the couch licking the cheese off Doritos and saving the licked-off chips in a separate bag for later. I should have just gotten off the treadmill and got right to work on cleaning the house or writing some Star Trek: The Next Generation fan fiction…
In my flash of depression, I decided to take a break and eat an entire box of Swiss Cake Rolls.
There’s another workout down the drain, but whatever. At least I got to savor the flavor of Switzerland by eating all 16 of those sons of bitches. That’s more culture in 5 glorious minutes than an entire day of PBS programming.
I hope you’re happy now, dear readers. You make me twist myself into fits for you, and now I’m fat. This is just like John Lennon being shot, except my wife isn’t Asian.