Salty Little Meat Sticks, In Your Mouth, Mmmmmmmmmm.
I have no problem admitting when I’m wrong, and unless it’s an accident, I typically don’t label any person’s thoughts as being ”absolutely true or false”…especially my own. I do call it like I see it though, and as much as I realize that there are two sides to every coin, everyday I see people who are so fat that they are in extreme danger of ceasing to even exist, and that’s a fucking fact. It’s also a fact, although impossible to tell based on appearance alone, that I see people who are not necessarily fat, but are so horribly unhealthy, that in reality, they may be much worse off than the fat motherfucker’s. Point that I am trying to make–again–is that this same rigid, stubborn, antiquated way of thinking about our health, in conjunction with that carnival-sideshow that you call a workout and do every day (except days that end in y), has gotten us in a bad spot. Sick, dying, depressed, addicted, crazy, obese, nasty, and smell-like-fucking-shit are all accurate descriptions of probably 8 out of every 10 people you come across. And if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m tired of you fucking ass-snackers who are making me feel as though I am constantly surrounded by the planet’s stupidest people in all of history. Most of the time, it depends on my mood. Some days I think your idiocy is fucking hilarious. Other days, I have serious thoughts of going right up to your dumb-ass to flat out ask you “What…in the fuck…are you doing, you stupid, fucking pussy? But then I’d have to kick you in the nuts so hard that you’d shit your pants, I wouldn’t want to make my boy Luis’ crew have to clean that shit up. Think I’m kidding asshole? I’m not in a good mood today, so try me. I got a brand new can of mace that would love nothing more than to be sprayed point-black into your face. Shit, I may just do it for fun. You see, you arrogant, overgrown turds who love to go to the gym–mostly because of the mirrors–don’t realize that your exercise IQ is making that little, salted, meat-snack in your tight-pants look enormous in comparison. Talk about an optical fucking illusion. Fuck, you’d really just have to see some of this shit to know how unbelievable some of these cubicle-cocksuckers even are.
The whole reason I’m even bringing all this shit up though, is because I’ll be goddamned if after 40 pages of calling out dudes who exercise in jeans, pleading for the return of the rat tail hairdo, and posing questions such as whether your Under Armour shirt just took a shit, or if that’s just you oozing out of it, I’m absolutely shocked that I still have enough of you people’s attention to actually make this amazing meat-whistle keep sounding off. Thanks…I guess. I’m certainly not complaining, and I know that many of you think that I’m providing a male-model disposal service, which I am. And if you are one of the turd in tights who I’m blatantly lambasting, then good for you for at least coming back to read this amazing daily newspaper. I guess you must realize that just because the trainer you’re paying is too much of a fuckin’ pussy to tell you that you’re obese, unappealing to the opposite and/or same sex, and stupid as all get out. Well, I don’t blame you. Sugar-coating the truth ain’t gonna help you suck any less Dean Loin Cloth. You can polish a turd people, but at the end of the day, you’re still a turd.
Alright, let’s get to the point where I actually decide to give you something that you may (or may not) be intelligent enough to apply to your shittiness: This is an excellent, indoor, aerobic ass-kicker. It is 30 minutes long, and uses various pieces of equipment that help to break up the monotony and boredom that the winter season can cause. Warning: this ain’t for wet, noodly, sad-sacs! Get in, go hard, go home. No excuses. Go move your ass.
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